Where We Are Now
by MakatiBird
Summary: One's a movie star, disillusioned and heading for a breakdown, the other's a math teacher... Val and Tyler attempt to find out whether love can last through almost a decade of hurt and change...
1. Prologue I: Call me Val

**A/N: Great Googly Moogly I haven't done this in a while… Anyway… Welcome back me. I'm rewriting this story, not because the old one sucked, but because I suddenly had a lot of time on my hands, and because I finally remembered the password to this damnable site. Most of my readers have moved on—that kind of makes me sad, because I made some great friends here, back in the day. Oh well, time for some new ones I guess. Like I said, this is a rewrite of an unfinished story that I had posted on here… oh… at the beginning of the new millennium? It's a future fic (if you hadn't guessed already from the title) and as I've been working on this for a while, I have several more chapters ready to post. **

**Disclaimers: Yeah… I'm 99 percent sure that Disney's lost the copyright on this show already… but I'm gonna go ahead and give it to them anyway, seeing as the Disney corporation terrifies me. Don't own them, just borrowed them for a while. Rated… strong PG13 for some language, for now, though that is probably gonna change. It's a long one guys, and T/V… cause I'm a sucker for a blonde love story.**

**It's good to be back -- Makati**

**Prologue I**

"**Call me Val"**

Lunch breaks at _Click!_ Magazine began precisely at 11:30 AM. On any given day even a minute past the half hour would find the office space deserted as staff members rushed out to grab macrobiotic salads, organic juice smoothies, and quick 30 minute yoga sessions. Today however 11:30 had come and gone unnoticed. Instead, the small office suite was bursting with makeup artists, fashion editors, lighting technicians and hairstylists, all barking out orders in an atmosphere that can only be described as purposeful hysteria. Today was the third of the month, and they were doing the cover.

Amidst these immaculately dressed and the woefully underfed professionals a cluster of bodyguards had positioned themselves around their charge, the up and coming actress that had been handpicked to grace the October issue. At the moment she was smiling demurely at the camera for one last photo before they finally broke for lunch. Val Lanier was the embodiment of everything _Click!_ strove to provide to their readers: sex, fashion, fun, fame… The twenty six year old actress' blonde good looks made her a fan favorite on the hit show "Ward" in which she played a depressed and love struck teenager in foster care. Off-screen, her party girl reputation made her a paparazzi darling, and their attention helped placed her amongst Hollywood's most watched crowd of "it" girls …But back to the scene at hand. The flashbulb exploded with a final poof, and freed temporarily from the glare of the hot lights, she bounded back to her dressing room with an excited cheer. Her stomach growled (not an unfamiliar feeling these days) but she had purposefully ignored the table laden with the low-carb, low fat, whole grain, organic and salad options set out by the magazine's catering service. Instead she retrieved her duffle bag, in which she had hidden a contraband double cheeseburger combo from In 'n Out burger. Feeling much like a drug addict, Val surreptitiously nudged the door to the dressing room closed and unwrapped the greasy mess, but no sooner had she taken a bite when she heard an angry harrumph from behind her. Standing in the (now open) doorway was Helen, her manager, with an angry glare and a dressing-less salad, both of which were presumably for her.

"Congratulations, in one bite, you have consumed your recommended daily caloric intake for an entire day." She scolded, taking the sandwich from her client's hands and tossing it out of the dressing room. The actress pouted and crammed a French fry into her mouth before those too were tossed out into the hallway.

"I'm hungry and you're littering" she muttered petulantly. Helen rolled her eyes and placed the salad in front of her. Raw spinach, pine nuts and dry chicken. The young blonde pulled a face. "Okay, now not so much. Can you throw this in the hallway too?" Helen smiled patiently at her client's childish antics and spritzed the salad with a light coating of fat free dressing.

"We eat to live darling, not for the taste. Now, before you go into the interview I'm going to go make sure the editors have the cheat sheet that the show's publicist drew up. Just answer the questions on the sheet like we practiced, don't get thrown off on one of your tangents and for God's sake don't answer any random questions that reporter tosses at you. Remember what happened to Lacey? Poor dear, she was ambushed by that reporter at People and now the whole world thinks she's an idiot hick."

"She _is_ and idiot hick Helen, why do you think she plays one so well on TV?" Val replied, muttering "southern belle my ass…" snidely in a tone that most bats would have difficulty picking out. Nevertheless, Helen gestured to the still open doorway and shot her a warning glare. It took three charity appearances and a Disney channel special to kill rumors of Val's bitchy attitude, and if the press got wind of another "Ward" catfight, not even a starring role as Snow White would save her from public scrutiny. She regarded her client with a frown. It was her job to scrutinize Val, to find and fix flaws that the press would have inevitably found and exploited themselves, so of course the blonde's increasingly common mood swings and erratic behavior over the past few months had not escaped her notice. Twice in the past 3 months of filming Val had stormed off the set in a fury, only to reappear two or three days later, smiling as the infuriated producer threatened and bullied Helen in her stead, screaming that he wouldn't hesitate to kill her character off once and for all. Her glare softened into something akin to pity as she regarded the petite blonde who was seated cross legged on the carpet in front of her, picking at her salad with a childish grimace on her face. That Val was cracking under the pressure of being Val Lanier was easy enough to figure out. Under the fake smiles and the cheerleader enthusiasm Helen could see the eyelash thin fractures that threaded through her carefully constructed veneer. Turning to walk out of the dressing room, Helen put in a mental note to call Dr. Ramalash for some more valium, just enough to let her client last until the season wrapped.

Hunger won out over attitude, and Val ate the salad. Helen reentered the dressing room to catch her snacking on the leftover pine nuts. "You have an interview with Miss Cleary for the magazine before the last round of pictures." She said, trying not to smirk at the actress' loud groan. With a roll of light blue eyes and a defeated sigh Val allowed Helen to lead her into the fashion editor's office, where they were immediately and eagerly greeted by Miss Cleary herself. At 43 years old, Miss Cleary, or Wendi, as she insisted Val call her, was 20 years older than the average _Click!_ Magazine reader, but nevertheless her energy and enthusiasm, not to mention her wardrobe, matched that of any teenager. She was dressed in pencil thin jeans, a vintage Blondie t-shirt and spoke mostly in exclamation points. Val liked her immediately.

"So glad to meet you! Have they been treating you well in the photo department?" Wendi said breathlessly, thrilled to finally be meeting one of her favorite actresses.

"Oh, yes, the photo shoot is going great, Miss Cleary."

"Call me Wendi."

"Oh, all right Wendi. The photo shoot is going great, but it's a bit tiring. You'd think that after the first few I'd be used to it by now" she laughed. Helen quietly slipped out of the room to give the two women time to chat. Wendi gaped at the beautiful young woman standing in front of her. Barely 26 and yet, here she was, Val Lanier, winner of this year's Emmy award for Best Actress, star of her own TV show, one of People's 100 Most Beautiful People…

"Um, H-have a seat Miss Lanier." She stammered nervously, motioning to the comfy-looking couch resting against the wall of her office. She was met with another brilliant smile from the young actress.

"Please," she giggled, "call me Val."


	2. Prologue II: Why do I do this?

Prologue II

"Why do I do this?"

"And so, according to the Betweenness of Rays theorem, which states what Margo?" Tyler Connell asked, suddenly whirling around to stand over the desk of one of the less attentive pupils in his 10th grade geometry class. The student, apparently named Margo, looked up from the note the she'd been scribbling to her friend. Her mind blanked as she was cornered by the penetrating blue gaze of the young geometry teacher.

"I- um, the Betweenness of Rays theorem you say?" she stuttered, seeing the helplessness of her situation and taking one last stab at being humorous. A couple of students in the back of the classroom snickered, and Margo wished with all her heart the she could simply vanish at that instant.

"Yes Margaret, the Betweenness of Rays theorem, you know, the one I've been discussing the entire class period?"

"Oh, yes, right. I, knew that. I, it says…" she shot her best friend the "help me I'm sinking miserably" look, and smiled as Jason immediately toppled out of his chair, (his way of creating a ridiculous, yet effective diversion) causing a roar of laughter among the rest of the students, and taking Mr. Connell's attention off of her long enough for Margo to scan the page and find the elusive theorem.

"All right guys, settle down, it's just gravity." Tyler sighed, already knowing that he couldn't possibly restore the seriousness of the classroom after the mayhem. Luckily for him, the bell rang at just that moment, preventing any further demonstration of his impotent authority. "You're dismissed." He grumbled to an already empty classroom. He sat at his desk and lay his head down on a stack of geometry homework, wondering morosely how much he had aged because of job induced stress. It had only been a year ago that he, clutching a hard earned masters degree in educational sciences in his fist, had made the decision to return and teach at his old Alma matter, Kingsport High School. Funny, when he was a student here he couldn't wait to get out and experience the real world away from Kingsport High. Now here he was, only halfway into his second fall semester teaching mathematics, looking and sounding suspiciously like his own geometry teacher, old burnt out Mr. Austin. A smile touched his lips at the irony of the whole situation.

"Why do I this?" he chuckled to himself.

"Someone once told me that to be a teacher you must love children, and hate yourself." a voice answered from the doorway of his classroom. Tyler quickly picked his head up from his desk, recognizing the voice of Jerry Beale, the newly hired computer science teacher, and the only other faculty member that was in his 20's at Kingsport. Jerry, like Tyler was a KHS alumni. Tyler sometimes suspected that they had become friends because each was trying to find in the other what had drawn them back there. "So Tyler, you ready for lunch?" Jerry offered. He was holding a football in his hand "'S a decent day, thought we could toss this around and dine al Fresco." Tyler nodded and stood up from behind his desk to follow Jerry out of the school. "So, another early exodus from the classroom Connell? Back in the day our teachers made it a policy to torture us for the entire 50 minutes that they had us in their clutches. Not to mention that we had to walk to class uphill…in the rain…while battling cougars."

"Yeah, well, it was turning more into torture for me then for them. You'd think that after 45 minutes of drilling the same damn theorem into their skulls they'd be able to at repeat it to me. But nope- in one ear, out the other." Tyler said despondently. "Is it just me or is teaching these kids just pointless? I mean, they forget everything I've said as soon as that darn bell rings!"

"Well maybe if you weren't so boring…" Jerry taunted, tossing the football his way. Tyler caught it easily and fired it back.

"Well math doesn't exactly inspire edge-of-your-seat excitement. What do you suggest I do? Get up there and start an Irish jig? I'm there to teach, not to entertain." Jerry realized that he'd hit a tender nerve in his troubled friend's psyche and decided to just drop the topic. After all, teachers are very sensitive about their ability to bore the livelihood out of their students.

"So, did you at least assign them homework? Or are you turning into one of those powder puff teachers that just sit back and let the students cost through?"

"Of course I gave them homework. The more they annoyed me, the greater the amount of problems got. You'd think they'd have figured out that correlation by now, but oh, wait, that's right, they skipped my lesson on correlations to attend the basketball pep rally that day." Tyler snapped, throwing the ball a little too hard. It nailed Jerry in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him

"That's a professional strength throw there Connell. Why is it that you never went pro? It would have saved you from this mundane existence. And think of the lifestyle you could've lived! Women, money… no teenagers…"

"Yeah, well, I was going to after college, but a friend of mine persuaded me not to live purely for myself, you know, to give back a little. Then he went and became a plastic surgeon, cushy life and all. Bastard."

"Man, we got majorly worked in the job department." Jerry chuckled.

"Yeah, but I guess I can't complain that much about my life. I mean, who else gets to influence kids the way we do? Maybe one day I'll actually teach somebody something that'll stay. That's a lot more rewarding then the millions he gets for fixing some woman's messed up nose."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that Connell." Jerry chuckled, tossing the ball back in Tyler's direction.

**A/N: Well, the first prologue gave you the movie star, so it was fairly obvious who the math teacher had to be… Do people still read and review these days? Huh… I guess we'll find out. If you do read, and you want more, please review. Hell, review if you don't. **

**-- Makati**


	3. Chapter 1: Well, that went well

**A/N: I know, three postings, one day… it boggles the mind. Well, not really since the chapters have pretty much been written. Yadda yadda… I own nothing, though since Disney doesn't wanna play with em, I don't see why I can't. So, this chapter… pretty much continues the prologues. Read on! (And Review)**

** --Makati**

**Chapter 1**

**Well, that went well**

Wendi thought the interview was going extremely well. Val was everything she expected her to be; bubbly, upbeat and surprisingly frank. What more could be expected from a former high school homecoming queen, after all? Wendi only regretted that this chat wasn't taking place over margaritas at her favorite dive down the street instead of in the impersonal space of her office. Like any other celebrity interviewer, Wendi thought about what it would be like to connect with a celebrity in a way that was more than business, and come out of an interview with a fabulous new best friend. Val, it seemed, had yet to gain the aloofness that came with being an A-list celebrity. She told secrets, she traded face mask recipes- really, she was downright friendly. It didn't take long before the two were chatting like old friends as a tape recorder captured their conversation to save for Wendi's article. The hour long interview ended entirely too soon, in Wendi's opinion, and it seemed Val was once again being herded out of the office by the ever-demanding Helen to redo her makeup only a few seconds after she'd arrived. Flashing one final smile at the young woman leaving her office, Wendi once again thanked Val for her time and sat down to listen to the recording of the interview, trying to decide how she could accurately project the actress' vibrant personality into her article…

**Begin tape**

"**Wendi**: Val Lanier! It's such an honor to be able to interview you! I am such a huge fan of your show! So tell me, how does it feel to be an Emmy award winning actress? I know that honor is still relatively new for you.

**Val**: Oh, gosh, you have no idea. I mean I'm on set about to film the opener for the third season and I get this call, and it's Michael Kors wanting to know what I wanted to borrow to wear to the Emmys! That's literally when I found out that the show had gotten 6 nominations. I didn't even know to watch the telecast of the nominees, can you believe that? And to actually win? I keep thinking I'm going to wake up back in my apartment with the rent overdue…

**W**: Are you kidding? You were a shoe in! Speaking of season three, can you give any hints as to what's in store for your character, Julia? Last season ended with her sharing a steamy kiss with her best friend and foster brother Kevin, and our readers are dying to know, does this mean that Julia is leaving longtime honey Barry?

**V**: It's going to sound like an absolute cop out, but I really don't know. It's actually been the producers' policy since the beginning to hand the scripts out only a week before we shoot.

**W**: A week before?! Is that nearly enough time to prepare?

**V**: Well, I've been Julia for two seasons now, so slipping on her character, as depressed and neurotic as she is, is pretty easy for me. Memorizing all my lines in a few days is kinda killer, but in the era of online spoiler sites, it's what's gotta be done.

**W**: Well all right then, let's get onto the good stuff.

**V**: Uh-oh

**W**: Uh-oh indeed. So tell me… you've been spotted hitting the clubs with your co-star Devon Harding, who plays Kevin on the show… is any of that on-screen tension for real?

**V**: (Laughs) Devon and I get this question a lot, and in a way, I'm glad because it means that our acting must be pretty convincing. But as far as off camera goes, no, I'm afraid not. Spending so much time with Devon and all the other people on the cast, friendships naturally develop because during the season your cast mates are literally the only people you see. Devon is my best friend and my sidekick, and usually involved when I manage to get myself in trouble… but that's all there is to it.

**W**: And you're not pulling a Jennifer/Vince on us right?

**V**: Trust me, if I'm involved with somebody _Click!_ Magazine and the rest of the world will be sure to hear about it. I'm more of a spin around a lamppost; shout it from the rooftops kind of person when I'm in love.

**W**: All right, I'll let it lie. So, moving on… Your character, Julia, how similar is she to the person that you were when you were in high school? Do you relate to her at all?

**V**: People relate to Julia's character because she embodies the identity crisis that was high school. She's so deep, and so real, but she's trapped in the totally unreal world that is high school and feels like she has to find a label for herself that fits like jock, or genius or theater chick, and stay in character so that she doesn't freak people out. I suppose that I can relate to that as much as you can. In high school, for instance, I was a cheerleader. I was homecoming queen. I went steady with the quarterback. I was exactly who I was supposed to be, and did exactly what I was supposed to do to stay on top of that tiny little high school in Kingsport, Virginia. And then I graduated and moved out of there it was like… well, now what?

**W**: cheerleader huh?

**V**: Yup… Go Cobras, 1996 Division II Football Champions.

**W**: Wow. Go Cobras! Okay, so now it's time for our _Click!_ Hotseat. Give me whatever comes into your head for the following questions…

* * *

By her estimation, Val thought that she had handled the interview fairly well. She maintained her image, piqued interest in the upcoming season premier of her show, and addressed the rampant rumors of a hot and heavy affair going on between her and Devon… all in all it was a good bit of PR fluff. She was particularly proud of her long winded responses, which she knew would be preserved in their entirety so that Wendi could showcase her "depth." Wendi, she knew, would make it her mission to show the world that she was a happy, thoughtful and sincere person- a real belle molded by old fashioned Virginian values caught up in a Hollywood Cinderella story. It was going to turn out great, Helen would be pleased, her producers would be pleased, hell even her mother would probably frame it and bring it out at parties.

She wondered what would have happened if she had curled herself into a ball on the floor and told Wendi that she was tired and really, really hungry.

"- And after this you've got your workout at 4, and then it's off to _Spago_ for dinner with Mary, your new publicist." Helen intoned, oblivious to Val's distraction. "Then you and Devon were invited to appear at that cocktail launch party being thrown at Downs…I went ahead and got you a table in V.I.P."

Growing up, she'd wanted to be a doctor, so that one day she could do important things. A cocktail launch party. Jesus. All of hot Hollywood was turning out to celebrate the debut of a fucking drink, and she had a V.I.P. table. She was ushering in a new era in the world mixed liquors- she was a booze pioneer. Val took a deep breath to steady herself, and to her surprise found it easy to smile again. "All right, so let's knock these pictures out so we can party!" she crowed, loud enough for the staff outside her dressing room to hear. Helen grinned, proud of her client's boundless enthusiasm and healthy social appetite. Exiting the dressing room to make way for the wardrobe staff, she pulled out her cell phone and hit 7 on the speed dial.

"Hello Joel? Yeah, she's gonna be there tonight. I want the first proof of the pictures tomorrow morning, and I'll decide which ones go to press. Mmmm hmm… yeah… Well she's had a bit of a long day here, but you know our girl. She never stops!"

* * *

"All right now, for you homework, you'll read chapter 5, Lesson 2 on Parallel and Perpendicular line segments and…" Tyler's voice trailed of as his noticed that all the female students that sat in the back of his classroom seemed engrossed by something other then himself and his homework assignment. He guessed that they were feeling particularly brave that afternoon, as they had actually dared to gather their desks in a semi circle centered on one of his more disruptive students, a girl by the name of Sara Gingham and were whispering over what appeared to be a magazine. "Ladies, will you tell me what you find so absorbing that you'll risk the enlargement of tonight's homework assignment?" he asked, no longer bothering to conceal his threat. It was the end of a particularly long day- his entire Trigonometry class had fallen asleep during a dull lesson on algorithms, his Algebra class had gone on strike and refused to take a pop quiz, and to top it all off, he'd been given cafeteria duty. Needless to say, his usually unlimited stores of tolerance were running a bit dry. They went dryer still as the girls completely ignored him and continued to read. "Girls!" he barked angrily, causing the students that sat in the front row of the classroom to unceremoniously sink low into their seats and cover their ears. The objects of his aggravation finally pried their eyes away from the magazine long enough to blurt out a mini-explanation.

"Our school is mentioned in this magazine!" Sara squealed excitedly, ignoring the fact that her teacher's head was turning a dangerous shade of magenta. Tyler clenched his jaw, and the next few words out of his mouth were terribly strained.

"Unless it mentions the stellar teaching abilities of a certain Tyler Connell, I really don't care."

"But did you know that-"

"Away, just, put it away, and stare at the chalkboard as you pretend to pay attention to whatever I happen to be saying at the moment." He had no power here, and he knew it; they all knew it.

"Val Lanier used to go to this school!" Sara blurted quickly, unwilling to give up until her interesting tidbit of star information was announced to the class. She steeled herself for the inevitable detention headed her way, but when it never came, she braved a glance to the front of the room. While there were varied reactions to her starling announcement- most ranging from mild interest to mild annoyance- none was as curious as effect that her words had one their young math teacher. His face had paled in a matter of seconds, and he was gripping the edge of his desk with one white knuckle. His expression was a mixture of shock and depression.

"H-how do you know about Val?" he asked in a deathly whisper. His students stared at him as if he'd sprouted a couple of extra heads.

"Mr. Connell, everyone knows Val Lanier, she's like, a major celebrity. Don't you watch TV?" one of his brighter students chimed in front her front row desk.

"C-celebrity? S-she's famous?" he stammered.

"Don't tell me you've never seen 'Ward'!" another student gasped, not seeing how it was possible for a person to be that clueless. "It's like, the best show ever! It's taken over my Thursday night LIFE!" the bewildered expression on their teacher's face confirmed their deepest fears- Mr. Connell had been living underneath a rock for the past few years. He had to have been, if he'd never head of Val Lanier and her show before then! There was bedlam as each of the students simultaneously began informing him of what he'd been missing.

"-Coolest show ever!"

"-See, there's this girl, and she arrives in this town all mysterious and with some sort of past…"

"Thursday nights at 8 PM…"

"-And she's like, living with this family and there's this weird, like thing with her and her foster brother-"

"Val's the star…"

"And Devon Harding! Ohmigosh he's so hot!"

"And tonight's episode! I hear she's dumping Barry for Kev!"

"Really? God! It's about time! I mean talk about some UST-"

"SHUT UP! All of you, please, stop talking!" their excited chatter faded to silence at their teacher's yell. He'd collapsed into his seat, during the initial outburst, completely overwhelmed, and now he sat, massaging his temples and looking as dejected as a child that had just learned the truth about Santa. "Sara, let me see that article." He said quietly. Sara grudgingly handed him her magazine, and he took it with shaky hands. The class heard him inhale sharply as his eyes rested on the familiar blonde that smiled back at him from the glossy cover. Val. She looked exactly the same as she did in high school- same smile, same sparkle in her eyes… the eerie silence continued as he read the article that accompanied the interview, and any lingering doubts that she was his Val faded as he read each quote. He could almost hear her saying them in his mind, and he had to shut his eyes to block out the flood of memories of the ex-girlfriend that he thought he'd long since gotten over.

"Mr. Connell?" Sara said quietly, her voice projecting the class' growing concern for their teacher. "Mr. Connell, are you all right?" As if pulled out of a trance, his blue eyes removed themselves from the glossy photograph, and a fake smile plastered itself on his face.

"Right, um, you- you guys are dismissed-"

"Mr. Connell, how do you know Val Lanier?" Sara demanded, not willing to allow the subject to be dropped. Tyler swallowed back the weight he felt in his throat, and after a few minutes he managed to force out 4 bitter words…

"History, Val's ancient history."


	4. Chapter 2 Whatever happened to you?

**A/N: The song fool in the Rain belongs to Led Zeppelin… and the characters to Disney. **_Italics _**indicate past time.**

**Chapter 2**

**Whatever happened to you?**

_And if you promised you'd love so completely_

_And you said that you'd always be true_

_You swore that you never would leave me, baby_

_Whatever happened to you?_

_-Led Zeppelin, "Fool in the Rain"_

Hours after the dismissal bell had rung, the locker-lined halls of Kingsport High School were deserted. Janitors had come and gone, leaving shiny linoleum floors and empty trash bins in their wake as they wiped away the grime of another school day. There was silence, golden silence that was rare in a building that day by day, housed hundreds of teenagers and adults alike in their daily struggle against a decent education.

It was in this silence that Tyler sat, alone at his desk, staring at his hands and wondering why Fate had decided to once again royally screw with his already pathetic existence. It wasn't enough that the once mighty Tyler Connell (President, Most Likely to Succeed, Class of 1996) had become a lowly math teacher, earning a paltry salary and little respect in a position that provided just enough money to keep him living on canned food products. Oh no, life had decided to be funny, and take the one girl that had managed to shatter his already insecure heart all those years ago and reintroduce her in a shinier, more inaccessible form... on network television.

Val Lanier now lived a life everyone dreamed of: fame, riches, romance… though if the world was fair that last one wouldn't necessarily be true. As much as he prayed that she was just as single and miserable as he was though, the realist in Tyler seriously doubted that she was lonely. She was a beautiful woman, always had been. Toss her riches and celebrity into the package, and he figured that she probably had swarms of boyfriends, lovers, and admirers… all manner of men to worship the ground her stilettos walked on. She'd had legions of them in high school, so why would anything change now? Heck, he himself used to be her own little lap dog… till she left him that is.

Disgusted, he sent a stack of Algebra assignments fluttering to the ground next to his desk with an impatient swipe of his arm. White sheets of notebook paper littered the once tidy floor as he knocked over another pile, followed by another… until, in a fit of indignant fury he'd cleared the cheap aluminum desktop of all that had rested on top of it. Capless dry erase markers bled their contents out over Algebra II's pop quizzes, a dirty coffee mug snapped off at the handle and rolled under the desks front row. Jumping away from his desk, Tyler stood in the middle of the chaos, satisfied for no particular reason. "Now this is a mess that I can relate to." He laughed aloud to the empty room. He laughed so hard tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped past the blue collar of his shirt, followed by more salty streams as his laughter gradually converted to miserable sobs. "Some success this turned out to be." he muttered, giving the clutter on the floor one final half-hearted kick before silently turning to walk out of the trashed classroom.

* * *

"Julia, I can't lose you."

Tyler watched the scene unfolding on the television screen with mild interest, trying his hardest not to stare at the blonde woman that currently had tears rolling down her face as the camera zoomed in on her. He didn't know exactly why he was watching his ex-girlfriend's television show- he never watched television at all, save for football games- but he'd arrived home from work emotionally spent at 8 o'clock and there seemed no other option but to turn on the television and see for himself what had become of her.

"I have to go, Barry's-"

"No, you're not going to avoid talking about this Julie, and you're not talking about him. You have to tell me why. Why do you keep running from me?"

"Good question." Tyler said with a derisive snort of laughter as he glared at the image of his ex on the screen. He took another sip from a rancid bottle of vodka that he'd found in the back of his fridge. It had only been 30 minutes into the hour long show, and he'd already gone through his small supply of beer, and was now working on consuming some harder, more potent stuff that burned his throat going down. And he was going to keep drinking too. He was going to down every last drop till he no longer felt that hallow tug in his chest whenever her saw her smile- or worse, cry. Tyler liked to think that maybe she had shed a couple of tears over him all those years ago. It was the least she could do after ripping his heart out and tossing it back into his face. Uh oh, looks like she was talking again…he blearily focused his attention back to the show, squinting to make out her face amidst the swirling effect caused by the vodka.

"I don't want to!" she wailed, collapsing into Kevin's arms and sobbing into his chest. "I don't want to run any more Kev! I'm just scared. I'm scared because it's you and it's me and if it doesn't work then I'll have destroyed something wonderful..." Christ, if only she'd gone to him like that ten years ago…

"Well that's something that I'm willing to risk, because this right here? Standing in front of you and knowing exactly how it feels to hold your bottom lip between my teeth, and knowing, not just imagining anymore, but knowing that sigh you make every time I kiss your earlobe is killing me." Kevin said, delivering the last line passionately. Val- erm, Julia, only continued to bawl harder.

"Hoo boy, this is getting a bit old." Tyler murmured wearily, secretly wanting to place himself in Kevin's situation. He couldn't help but think, "That used to be me." As he watched "Julia" cling to the dark haired man on screen. He used to be the clingee, the one she ran to when she felt like drenching a perfectly good tee-shirt with her tears. He did actually know for a fact that she didn't sigh when her earlobe was kissed, and had memorized that little hollow in the curve of her neck where she'd dab her perfume. And he knew, more than that sad sap on television ever would, what it felt like to wake up every morning with that sick pit in your stomach because you knew that she was out there, and that she wasn't yours.

* * *

_Anyone watching the young man that sat at one of the many tables arranged outside of the quaint café could tell that he was waiting for someone. It was obvious in the way he'd anxiously glance at his watch between sips of his soda, and how his gaze raked across the sidewalk that ran in front of him searching for a companion that had yet to arrive. __**"Val should have been here by now…"**__ Tyler worried, once again scanning his surroundings in search of his usually punctual girlfriend. It was Val that had suggested that they meet here after her volunteer shift at the EMS station had ended, and yet, she was… he threw another glance at his wrist watch- 15 minutes late. He sighed and busied himself with studying the worn menu that lay on the table in front of him, though in reality, he was much too restless to actually focus on the little words printed on it. Instead his thoughts inevitably wandered to his girlfriend of going on two years. Unconsciously, his lips curved into a smile as he thought of her; about how excited she'd seemed when he'd called her that afternoon, telling him that she had to tell him something really important that evening and they just __**had**__ to meet for dinner, and that he "would totally never believe what had happened." Tyler's grin grew wider as he remembered the excitement in her voice. Whatever this was, she was thrilled about it, and whatever made her happy had the same effect on him. _

"_Tyler?" he was startled out of his rather pleasant reverie by the sound of her voice as she walked towards their table. She looked absolutely beautiful, even dressed casually in a low waisted pair of jeans paired with a halter top in her usual pastel palette- this time a soft baby blue. He jumped up and greeted her with a soft kiss before pulling her chair out for her. "You really didn't have to do that." she said, taking her seat. _

"_Actually, it says somewhere in the boyfriend's manual that I'm required to do that every so often, just to remind the world that I've been domesticated." Tyler responded seriously. _

"_Good boy." Val replied, leaning across the table to give him a little kiss on the nose. Tyler struggled to stifle a very unmanly sigh at the feel of her lips on his skin, and his inability to do so earned him a soft giggle and the sweet taste of strawberry as her lips brushed against his. Blue grey eyes flashed mischievously, and he gently caught her bottom lip with his teeth before she could pull away._

"_Haven't seen you all day." He murmured plaintively against her mouth. His hands dropped below the table to trace small, familiar patterns over her jean clad knees, smirking when he felt her shiver in response. "Miss me baby?"_

"_Always." She replied before reluctantly moving to extract herself from a kiss that would prove a little too distracting, had she allowed it to continue. They both frowned at the loss of contact, but it came with the recognition that talking would be rather difficult had their lips continued to remain occupied. "Sorry I was late." He shrugged dismissively in response; now that she was here, the 15 minutes-or was that seconds?- he'd spent waiting for her were an insignificant blip on his timeline. _

"_How'd work go?"_

"_I was on duty with Harmon, Jamie and Hank today, and Harmon and I were stuck clearing up the inventory closet." She said with a tired sigh, remembering the non-stop questions of the brand new volunteer. "It took us an extra 30 minutes to sort all the expired IV bags out of the boxes after he mixed up all the good ones with the bad ones. Alex was not pleased… well, not that he ever really is…" Val frowned a moment, contemplating her point "Alex needs a good boinking." She finally concluded._

_Tyler choked on a piece of ice before painfully swallowing it whole. "That would be the last time Alex and 'boinking' are ever mentioned in my presence." He wheezed as she happily stole sips from his abandoned soda. "Sooo, did you want to tell me your latest bit of good news before or after we ordered?" he prompted, trying unsuccessfully to take his drink back. Val pouted and pulled the glass closer towards her._

"_I'm not that hungry." She said with a shrug. "And I want to tell you now." She took a quick little breath to steady her nerves, still not knowing how her announcement would affect him. "Um, let's see... you know how I told you that I sent in an application to Stanford University earlier this year, even though I knew that I'd never get in? Well, I was checking the mailbox today, and there was this letter right? From Stanford, and I wasn't really expecting much, just your average rejection letter but the envelope was really thick and-" _

"_Um, Val, honey, it's not that I don't love hearing you talk- I could listen to your voice all day in fact- but maybe you'll want to get to the point, you know, before you bite your tongue or something." Tyler said gently. Val flushed red, though he wasn't sure if it was out of anger or not, but instead opted to continue speaking as if he hadn't interrupted, instead of bickering with him. _

"_Fine I'll try not to be so… verbose." She said huffily, before shifting back into excited cheerleader mode to finish her story. "So, I opened the letter, and I'm in! It said that I was accepted! Me! Accepted into Stanford University! Can you believe it?" she finished, breathless. The blue sparkle in her eyes had been magnified by her enthusiasm, an effect Tyler would, under normal circumstances, have found breath taking. Instead he was lost in his own thoughts, and he stared over at the girl seated in front of him with a shocked, almost glazed expression, his mouth hanging slightly open in surprise._

_Val waited patiently for his shouts of congratulations, and maybe even a celebratory kiss, but after a few moments of silence she realized that Tyler wasn't exactly thrilled about her news. He had yet make any sort of reaction at all. She reached across the table and gave his hands a tiny squeeze. "Tyler? Hey Tyler, are you still there?" She wasn't even rewarded with so much as a blink in response. All right, time to pull out the heavy artillery. "Tyler? Sweetheart? Tyler bear?" she hoped that the use of his hated nickname would snap him out of his catatonic state_

"_S-Stanford University?" he finally stammered. "Like, in California?" Val nodded. _

"_Yes, that Stanford. In Palo Alto. California." she explained slowly, as if she was teaching a Special Ed. class. _"_So anyway, as soon as we opened the letter my mom called her sister that lives in San Francisco and told her that I got in, and Aunt Jamie offered to let me come stay at her place for a week or so this summer so that I can visit campus and register and everything! It's really really happening Tyler! Can you believe it?!" she repeated. _

"_I- I don't believe it." He finally answered, his voice subdued._

"_You're glad for me, right? I mean… me going to Stanford is a good, right?" she asked anxiously, not really appreciating the lack of "happy"._

"_Um, yeah, but, uh, I thought that you were already accepted at UVA. Didn't you say that you wanted to go there?" he stuttered, regretting his words immediately after they left his mouth. The blithe, animated expression on Val's face flickered slightly, and he saw the beginnings of a real frown attack her smile. _

"_You're the one who wants to go to school in Virginia Tyler. You know that I've always wanted to go west." She explained gently._

"_Yeah, I know, but-"_

"'_But' what Tyler?" she snapped, feeling her temper flare. This was not how he was supposed to take this. He was supposed to be like the rest of her friends and family. He was supposed to tell her to go. "Tyler, why can't you be supportive about this? You know how much I've wanted a chance like this. You know that I never really wanted to stay in Virginia."_

"_I know Val, but California? All the way across the country? Why can't you go to the actual Harvard? Or Dartmouth? Or some other Ivy League school that's in our time zone. They're not in Virginia, but there wouldn't be a 3 hour time difference, not to mention a continent between us." he suggested, exasperated. He knew that he was being a bit selfish, but what exactly did she expect him to do? Leap out of his seat in elation because his girlfriend decided to move to the western seaboard? He loved her, and after all the fuss it took to get them together, he wasn't about to do the selfless thing and give her up without some semblance of a fight. Her face was buried in her hands, and he realized that her shoulders were shaking. Uh oh- that could never be good. "Val I-I'm sorry, I'm a selfish bastard for saying anything at all. It's just…I just wanted to say that…" His voice caught for a moment, but he cleared his throat and steeled himself against the hysteria that clung to the edges of his words. "I'm asking you, please baby, don't go. Don't leave me baby. I can't- I can't lose you. I love you." He winced at the neediness in his words, his shaking whine a testament to his desperation. She raised her head, and her eyes had narrowed into menacing slits. _

"_You don't love me at all." She hissed dangerously, unwilling to let herself scream at him in a public restaurant. "If you loved me you'd let me have a future. If you loved me you'd want me to go. You'd be happy for me." The naked hostility in her voice cut him, and he had a hard time connecting them to the same lips that he'd been kissing only moments before. _

"_You don't understand Val, I'm happy for you, I'm proud of you. It's just-"_

"_It's just that you don't trust me enough to let me go!" ok, maybe she was yelling now, but the flood gates had been opened, and she didn't have a prayer of claming down. "You want me to stay with you, even if it means sacrificing this once in a lifetime chance to go to the school of my dreams! That's not love, you selfish asshole!" her last few words were more of an anguished yowl as she leapt up from the table, threw the remainder of his own soda in his face, and ran out into the night._

* * *

Apparently six years and the entire contents of his liquor cabinet still couldn't managed to dull the jagged edges of that painful memory, because just thinking about it Tyler once again felt his poor, abused heart being torn out of his chest. In hindsight, he probably should have done what any other caring boyfriend would have done; let her go, and then done his best to continue their relationship long distance. He'd thought that they deserved better that though, thought that he and Val deserved more than four to eight years of occasional visits and costly phone calls. The Tyler of six years ago thought that it was reasonable to want his girlfriend in at least the same region of the United States. But then again the Tyler of ten years ago had also expected for their little disagreement to blow over in a day or so. "Daft idiot." He muttered, mocking his old self.

What had started as a regular couple's spat turned into another Cold War, with Val playing the part of frigid Mother Russia. Every single one of his calls had been intercepted by her little sister Brooke, who'd insisted that Val was "really busy right now… I mean, she's not home." Any future visits to the Lanier home to apologize had been completely out of the question- she made that clear by refusing to acknowledge his presence at the front door when ever he appeared at it. In short, Val, aided by her sister, did everything that she possibly could to shut him out of her life, and was met with startling success. Those few weeks were a personal hell for Tyler, for sure, but they were nothing compared to the curve ball his vindictive girlfriend decided to throw at him two weeks after their fateful argument…

_After two weeks of trying to penetrate the wall that Val had managed to create around herself, Tyler was beginning to think that he'd never hear from her again. That was why it was a complete shock that morning to see Brooke standing at his front door. Not to mention awkward. _

"_Hey Tyler." She greeted stiffly. It was weird to be talking to him again, after all that she and Val had done to avoid him the past two weeks. _

"_Brooke." He said cautiously, obviously surprised. "Why are you here? Couldn't this count as treason in the high court of Lanier? Fraternizing with the enemy and such…"_

"_Tyler, shut up." She replied firmly, "I've got a message from Val." Tyler rolled his eyes at her clandestine tone but quickly stepped aside and motioned for her to come inside. Brooke, knowing the nature of Val's little note, definitely wanted to deliver it and get the hell out of there. She didn't want to see what kind of state Tyler would be left in after finding out that Val was effectively, well, actually completely, gone. She'd left the night before on a non-stop red eye flight to San Francisco to spend her remaining weeks of vacation with their aunt, and from there she'd go straight on to Stanford to begin her year. _

_Noticing the younger blonde's reluctance to step into his home Tyler sighed and grabbed the small envelope from her hand. "I'm not a plague victim, you know. Coming inside my house won't render you unclean or anything." Brooke gave a short little shake of her head. _

"_It's not that, Tyler, it's just… well, read the note, and then you'll understand why you won't really want to see me here ever again." She said with a sad little sigh before spinning on her heel and retreating down his driveway. Tyler watched her run away in mild confusion before shutting the door and ripping open the envelope eagerly. His grin grew when he recognized Val's neat handwriting._

"Dear Tyler_," it began… well, so far so good. At least it didn't begin with, "Hey, you filthy piece of scum…" anyway, back to reading… "_Dear Tyler, If you're reading this, letter right now, it means that I've already gone_." What? She was gone? Gone where? Uh- oh, he was beginning to see why Brooke ran away so fast. His finger's tightened around the edged of the flowery pink stationary as he bravely continued to read. _

"Tyler, when I ran away the other night after telling you about my decision to go to SU, it wasn't because I was upset and I really wanted to go… well actually, part of it was… but never mind that. I ran away because I was so hurt that you didn't love me enough to let me choose my own path to the future. You were already doing all you could to make me stay, even though you know that I'd ultimately end up unhappy going to any other school. That was selfish Tyler, you knew it then, and I'm reconfirming it now._" _

"_**Well thank you Val, for stating the already clearly evident- except now it's in a newer, more guilt inducing form..."**__ he thought sarcastically. _

"So onto why you have this letter. You're probably wondering why I said that 'I've already gone'. The truth is Tyler; I couldn't bear to stay around Kingsport anymore. It was just too hard dodging you at home, remembering not to answer any of your phone calls, worrying about running into you in one of our hundred little spots in this damn town. So I left. The plan is to spend the rest of my summer in San Francisco, and from there I'm going straight to Stanford to begin school. This isn't a proper goodbye, I know it isn't, and I know that you deserve more than a hastily scribbled note, but I couldn't do it in person. I'm a coward, I guess, because I ran away from you again- though this time it was sans the soda in your face.

Why? I was only thinking about us, and how painful it would have been to leave you at the end of the summer with these false promises of keeping in touch. Cut right to the quick, you know that's how I like things done. I know how much you must be hurting now, but really, this is for the best. You may not believe me, but it's true. Maybe someday I'll see you again… and maybe we could someday be friends, but for now, I guess the whole point of this letter was to say goodbye. So, goodbye Tyler. I'm sorry things had to be this way, and I know asking you to forgive me is useless, cause I can't even forgive myself for what I'm doing. I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but since we've left the world of fair and rational thinking I'm just going to go ahead and do it anyway. I understand that you hate me right now, and I'm fine with that, but please, don't doubt that during any part of our relationship I loved you any more than I do now. Be happy, Tyler.Love always.

_Val"_

* * *

Ask Tyler Connell now if he was still hurting from Val's sudden exodus from his life, and he just may be able to manage a careless laugh before quickly explaining that she was his ex- high school girlfriend, nothing more, nothing less. Of course, if you were really observant, you'd notice how he'd involuntarily tensed at the mere mention of her name, or how his smile wasn't really wide enough, or his laugh easy enough to be natural. And if you had known him long enough you'd realize that he was lying through his perfectly straight, white teeth. Val's departure had been a crippling blow to his existence, and the sheer mention of it was still enough to bring him to his proverbial knees. The weeks after her disappearance had been twice the torture of her weeks spent avoiding him.

Knowing what had happened, his friends backed off, thinking that all he needed was a little space before he could rebound and return to being his old self again. And so the summer passed on without a word from her. Fall came, and Tyler himself went to college as planned. He took classes, dated new girls…found it possible not just to live without her, but to live without her and be happy. Found himself able to file her away with the rest of his past. Abandoning his devotion, Val became a shadow in the back of his mind and then disappeared all together, lingering only in an odd preference of his for strawberry flavored lip balm. He was healed. He was over it.

"_Pain never really goes away though, does it_?" he mused drunkenly, contemplating her retreating figure on the screen. Ask any football player about his knee, or a war veteran about a bullet wound. Pain, real pain, was comfortingly constant. It's always there, stabbing at you, coloring the way you smile, the way you laugh, the way you love. Today's incident in class, followed by his spectacular need to get wasted only served to prove to him that he'd been lying to himself for six years. Tyler had chosen to ignore it, and here he was, bleeding again over her almost decade later. "Decade?" he thought morosely to himself, "Has it really been that long?"

**A/N: Well.. how do you people find it so far… you know, the 3 that have probably read? Read, and if you've got a little time on your hands, please review.**


	5. Chapter 3 Hand Me Down

**AN: Well, that took long enough to get out, but that's mainly because this part begins the ENTIRELY NEW MATERIAL!!! Haven't updated in a while, I know, blame it on a busy couple of weeks and shady Spanish internet providers.**

**Disclaimer: The song is Hand Me Down, by Matchbox 20. Characters belong to Disney, 'm just playing with them.**

**Chapter Three**

_**Hand Me Down**_

_Someday they'll find your small town world_

_In a big town avenue_

_Gonna make you like the way they talk_

_When they're talking to you_

_Gonna make you break out of your shell_

_Cause they tell you to_

_Gonna make you like the way they lie_

_Better than the truth_

_They'll tell you everything you wanted someone else to say_

_They're gonna break your heart_

The back corner booth at Providence nightclub was the Holy Grail of V.I.P. seating. Surrounded by elegant silk screens and situated as far as possible from the media mayhem at the front door, it provided the perfect atmosphere for celebrities to get drunk and cozy without worrying about embarrassing photos or gawking groupies. That Val and Devon had been seated there had been a matter of course- the owner had seen to it that they owned the table the minute they stepped out of their car. What bothered Devon was that he couldn't get Val to leave it.

"Come on Val, DJ Loki is spinning tonight. You love him! Get out of the booth and out on the floor!" He pleaded. Val crossed her arms tightly over her chest and shook her head tightly.

"I'm not going out there. It's too embarrassing." Devon sighed

"No one even noticed that the dress was a little see-through. Trust me, you're imagining it."

"The photographer complimented me on my underwear! I'm gonna kill that designer…"

"Well… it's a bright print… maybe people will mistake it for part of the outfit. Besides the dance floor is so dark no one can even see. Look, I'll even dance behind you, and I'll dance like a white boy spaz." He did a little booty shake and flailed his arms 'a la John Travolta 1973 to demonstrate, and Val cracked a smile. "See? People are gonna be too busy laughing at me to even notice your cute underwear." Val laughed and downed the remainder of her glass of champagne.

"You really think my underwear is cute?" she asked, already starting to feel a little giddy and daring. Devon grinned and extended his hand to hoist her out of her seat.

"Luv, you make those Hello Kitty boy shorts look positively couture."

* * *

"I've got sunshine… on a cloudy day"

Val groaned and cracked open her eyes one at a time at the sound of her ringtone. "Champagne is the devil's drink" was the first thought that popped into her head. The second was how Devon was right, that she did have the most annoying ringtone in the world. The phone was somewhere to her left, but she was deathly afraid of moving her head even a fraction for fear of inciting the hangover gnomes to begin the jack hammering of her skull. So, as slowly as she could she inched her hand in the general direction of left and groped around for her phone.

"I'll guess you'll say, what can make me feel this way…" Devon popped his head into the open doorway, and Val jumped a mile. "My giiiiiirl" he finished with flourish, bring the rest of his body and a tray carrying burnt eggs and mimosas in to the room.

"You brought breakfast… and more alcohol." She said, once she could finally speak. Her voice was gravelly, and her mouth tasted like old dead cat.

"Correction. I made breakfast." He was wearing her "Kiss the delivery guy" apron over his boxer shorts and not much else. Val panicked, but a quick check under the sheets told her that she was still wearing that damn see through wrap dress, and thankfully, the Hello Kitty boy shorts. Devon's grin grew wider at her confusion. "Relax, there was no hanky, nor was there panky last night. We were both two sheets after all that champagne at Providence, so passing out at the closest place, in this case yours, seemed a better alternative to DUI." Val sighed, visibly relieved, and he couldn't help but egg her on. "You are quite the cuddler though. I've never been the little spoon before." He was saved her scathing response by another ring of her cell phone. Having to content herself with shooting him the Glare of Death, Val quickly hopped out of bed to retrieve the phone off of the floor. Devon took the opportunity to leave the room and retrieve the rest of their breakfast, burnt waffles and grapefruit.

"Helen!" she answered, still in gravel voice. "Good morning, uh, how can I help you?"

"Good Afternoon." Helen replied curtly "Have you seen the papers yet?" The papers weren't actually papers at all, but online gossip columns, complete with the bloggers' classy camera phone pictures taken at whatever hotspot they'd stalked the night before. Val winced, knowing that last night's fashion disaster, along her subsequent drunkenness, was in all likelihood already all over the internet.

"Uh, no, can't say I have."

"Us! weekly has already bought the photos. Who told you that dress was a good idea?"

"It didn't seem all that see through when I put it on…" She heard Helen's deep sigh over the line, and sensed that the dress wasn't all of it. "Um, is something wrong?"

"_Sigh._ Nothing irreparable, thank God. It's just, photographers caught you and Devon going into your house last night after you left Providence. They're camped out across the street trying to get pictures of him leaving." Another tired sigh. "Honey, if you guys are together you should have just admitted it. That interview with Wendi denying the relationship just came out in _Click!_ three days ago, and in light of these pictures, she's pretty ticked. I've promised her the exclusive on our official comment to smooth things over, but still…"

"Our official comment? But Helen, absolutely nothing happened! No comment should be the comment. Or, if we really need one, how about, 'Val and Devon are allowed to be drunken assholes together if they so choose.'" Devon came in the room as she said this and raised his eye brows. She mouthed "I'll explain later" and returned to her phone conversation with Helen. "Look, for my own sanity, I'm going to ignore the papers for today. Tell the media whatever you choose, but the general gist should be 'Val and Devon did not have sexual relations'" At this Devon waggled his eyebrows suggestively and licked lips. Val rolled her eyes "make sure to include that she thinks that he is a pig."

"What?! I don't think that's such a good-"

"Kidding Helen, just kidding. So… do you have any good news for me today or what?"

"Well, there is one last thing. Someone from Kingsport High school called-" Val visibly blanched.

"Oh? What did they want?" She said, forcing herself to sound casual.

"Nothing important, apparently you gave their alumni association the telephone number for my office as a contact. As their most famous alumni, they wanted to know if you would host the Homecoming festivities for the school's 50th anniversary or something… I went ahead and sent your apologies and told them to go with choice number 2." It took Val a minute to respond, and when she did her voice sounded strained.

"Yeah, no that's fine. I'll see you later Helen."

"But what about-"

"Call me later, okay? Bye." Val shook her head to clear it as she hung up the phone. Kingsport High… God, she hadn't thought of that place for years.

"Something wrong?" Devon asked, concerned. His voice snapped her out of her thoughts before she could begin an honest to goodness brood, and she forced a smile.

"Huh? Oh, well yes. This breakfast is inedible, and its 1:30 in the afternoon… and there are photographers trying to peek into my window." She finished in a stage whisper and motioned towards the sliding glass door that lead to the second story balcony, from which she could see a couple of determined paparazzi attempting to scale her cast iron fence. She and Devon watched them make absolutely no headway on the greased metal, and laughed as they stumbled back into the crepe myrtle that lined the outside of the fence. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that one photographer had managed to haul himself high into the branches of her neighbor's oak, and was madly clicking his camera in the direction of Val's balcony. He pointedly stared in the photographer's direction and stretched, giving the determined shutterbird a long view of his torso. Val rolled here eyes and shut the blinds. "You know, half naked pictures of you in my house? So not helpful."

"Well, neither are pictures of you dirty dancing with me in a see through dress…" he replied with a lazy grin. Val groaned and slammed face first into her pillow, and Devon chuckled at her muffled cursing. "Oh relax, will you? Those mongrels are going to immediately associate you with any guy you step out with, not because it's true, but because it's a universal truth that America doesn't like to see its pretty starlets single." His use of the word pretty and the sound of a tree branch snapping behind the shut blinds coaxed the smile back onto her face. Seeing that her home was no longer in danger of being stormed, Val focused her attention back on the large breakfast tray Devon had hauled into the room. She poked dubiously at the browned eggs, and recoiled a little when they emitted an unknown vapor.

"What say you we greet our photo hounds on our way out to get some lunch?" she asked, downing the mimosa and pushing the rest aside. Devon laughed again, amused and apparently unbothered by the rejection of his cooking.

"You and me, out in public together and not wasted? Careful babe, they're gonna say we're in love!"

* * *

_Yeah, from what I see_

_You're just another hand me down_

_And all those nights don't give you what you need_

_So lay all your troubles down_

* * *

_2 weeks later…_

"Remember when you used to be wholesome?" Helen asked irately as she stormed into Val's hotel suite. She was greeted by the sight of Val sprawled comfortably with her laptop in the middle of her unmade bed, still clad in a pair of flannel pajamas at two in the afternoon. Helen sighed at the mess that was her client and held up that week's issue of Star magazine. On the cover was a much recycled photo of a wrecked Val climbing barefoot out of her Bentley coupled with the headline "Train wreck of the week: Val Lanier parties solo!" Val rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to playing mahjong.

"I would hardly classify that as a train wreck. It's more like… a fender bender facilitated by a pair of really uncomfortable shoes."

"And half a bottle of rum." Helen added caustically as she began picking up the assorted clutter on the floor. "Thank God they got you climbing out of the passenger's side door. A DUI arrest is nothing that we need right now."

"So, how are things at the paparazzi place?" Val asked, quickly changing the subject. Ever since the photos from her and Devon's bed n breakfast had sold for over 2 million, photo hounds had struck camp at her front gate, and, more disturbingly, in her neighbors' trees trying to get another shot. The final straw came when Val opened the National Enquirer to find a photo of herself brushing her teeth that she was certain could only have been taken from inside the house. She'd packed up and moved into the W that same afternoon.

"I picked up your mail; it's all on the entrance table there by the door. But the savages snatched your paper and your copy of inStyle before I got there. There were only two or three trucks left today though, so I'm guessing they'll all have moved on by the end of the weekend." Satisfied that she could navigate Val's bedroom without puncturing her foot on an errant stiletto, Helen finally sat down on the edge of the bed. She cleared her throat twice before finally slamming the cover down on Val's laptop to get the blonde's attention. "We need to talk." She began, using her sternest "manager" voice. She opened the magazine that had compared Val to a railway disaster and flipped to the central article, in what looked like a tribute to her blonde drunkenness, complete with the header "'Ward' star Val Lanier parties on despite friends' desperate pleas to slow down."

"You see now, this here is no good." Helen reached into her messenger bag and pulled out 3 other weeklies, all of which featured a slight variation on Star's train wreck theme. "Neither are these."

"I've had a tough couple of weeks Hel, you know, with the home invasion and what not. Just wanted to let loose a bit, to not care for a while." Val replied, studying the pages in front of her. Collages featuring various states of her drunken distress, lanky hair and cloudy eyes. Different outfits, same sloppy drunk. Something in the pit of her stomach curled uncomfortably, and she was somewhat relieved to discover that she could still feel ashamed. More evidence that she was still human- always good to have.

"Well, you can't all right? You can't just 'not care'!" Helen snapped back, agitated at the actress' careless response. "You're Val freaking Lanier. You signed up for the fame gig, wanted everyone to love you, so here it is, here's the job. You watch what you do, watch who you are, what you say, who you hang out with, because if you don't these assholes sure will." She was up off of the bed now, pacing in front of the pajama clad blonde as her monologue gained steam. "America loves you. The press loves you. Everybody loves you, but you know what they love even more?" She grabbed the stack of news papers from the bed spread and shook the offending photos in front of Val's face. "A fucking train wreck." Helen saw it coming in the tightening of the blonde's shoulders, in her small, almost imperceptible shudder. One tear lowly slid down her nose. Two. A harsh, choking breath.

Fishtail. Blowout.

In a split second Val had gone from stately to sniveling, and Helen found herself with an awkward armful of depressed, hysterical superstar. "Shhh… ummm… hush now…please?" She murmured, stiffly patting the top of Val's head. Hours spent feeding, handling, and even picking up after her famous clients had failed to develop any kind of motherly instinct in Helen whatsoever, leaving her completely unprepared to deal with this sort of emotional outburst. Val was sobbing hard into her shoulder, and Helen's forehead creased as she struggled to figure out the words embedded in Val's unintelligible cries.

"Mrrpfl mmsh hic mmnmmfph"

"No, of course I'm not putting you in rehab. It's a pretty clichéd way of committing career suicide nowadays. Look at the laughingstock it made of Lindsey."

"'mgonna snort gnnagetfired" she wailed hysterically into Helen's shoulder.

"No, no of course not. This isn't some hokey intervention. Look, you're young, you're having fun, and hey, America loves that. America loves you. It's just, the producers and I were talking honey, and it hasn't just been 'a couple of weeks'. You've been a little off for a couple of months now, and we just think that it's time to take your publicity in another direction." The stern tone in Helen's voice was gone, replaced by something softer, more placating, which of course, put Val even more on guard. She lifted her head from Helen's shoulder, her hysteria quelled by a sudden onslaught of worry.

"I'm not doing another Disney special." She managed to quip, shooting her manager a weak grin that barely touched her red-rimmed eyes. Helen, sensing (or perhaps hoping) that Val's small smile signaled the end of that rather awkward emotional episode, quickly reprised her role as manager, shoving aside her strained sympathy in favor of her cheery shop voice.

"We were thinking of something more in line with the show… something like an on location shoot somewhere… special." Still sniffling, Val considered Helen's idea.

"Yeah, maybe I do need to get out of L.A. for a while, this whole scene is just…"

"You're suffering from a little party burnout. Happens. That's why we were thinking, go off on location for a few weeks, let you disappear a while, maybe do a little PR boosting, visiting orphanages, whatnot…" The haggard look in Val's eye slowly began to recede, and she was nodding slowly, beginning to feel a spark of excitement at the whole enterprise.

"Sounds… amazing" she began hesitantly "Where we thinking of going? Somewhere exotic? India? Hawaii?" She frowned momentarily. "This isn't going to turn into some hokey Brady Bunch vacation spectacular is it? Cause I've heard Devon sing and believe me…" she cut of her quippy monologue when she noticed that her manager, the always composed Helen, was twitching like a five year old in mass. "Helen" she began warningly "where are we going?"

"Ahem…Kingsport" Helen's throat clearing was quickly becoming compulsive. "They want to… ahem… shoot some episodes at your …cough…old high school." Taking advantage of Val being shocked speechless, she ran through the rest with nary a harrumph. "The Powers That Be read the article in _Click!_ and were intrigued by your mention of Kingsport and long story short I contacted the high school and you're hosting the Homecoming ceremonies and shooting a couple of episodes on location at the high school. You leave next Friday" Only so many words could possibly be said in only one breath, so Helen's rapid fire release of truth ended with her bent over in another nervous fit of coughing. This spared her the look of absolute betrayal that had frozen onto Val's face.

* * *

_Some day they'll open up your world_

_Shake it down to the drawing board_

_Do their best to change you_

_They still can't erase you_

* * *

"K-kingsport." She mumbled, dazed. Helen bit her lip guiltily. Part of her job description as a celebrity's manager and handler included extensive rooting into Val's past, finding the bodies in the closet, so to speak, before, say, a nasty teenage arrest record for dope possession ruined a client's Humanitarian Award ceremony. Val's past was squeaky clean, and that's what had Helen stumped. Loving family, friends…Homecoming Queen, cheerleader, volunteer lifesaver… from what she could see, her client's childhood had been perfect.

So why is it that she'd packed up at 18 and never gone back?

Suddenly snapping out of her daze, Val vaulted from her bed and made it across the suit to her bathroom in less than 3 seconds. The door slammed behind her, and Val retched. Helen frowned. It wasn't as if they'd any choice in the matter, the Powers That Sign Paychecks had spoken, so next week they and the rest of the cast of Ward were Kingsport bound. She scanned the still cluttered floor as she waited out her client's grief, her eye catching Val's favorite faded maroon baseball cap, KHS stitched in fraying letters across the front. From within the fortress of the locked bathroom, Helen could hear the beginning of soft, stifled sobs. For better or for worse, the producers would get their show, and Helen would finally get the answer to the one mystery that existed in her client's past.

For better or for worse, Val was coming home.

_From what I've seen  
_

_You're just another hand me down_

'_Cause no one's tried to give you what you need_

_So lay all your troubles down_

_Lay them down… on me._

**AN: A rather schizophrenic chapter, I know, but you wanted forward movement, so here it is. A return to Kingsport. Read and Review to see what happens next! (Please)**


	6. Chapter 4 All the difference

**A/N: A relatively short chapter for me, but writer's block has been riding me like Paris Hilton on a Greek shipping heir, and writing this took a really frigging long time. But yay, forward motion!**

**Disclaimer: Song is **_**Fire and Rain**_** by James Taylor, poem is Robert Frost's the Road Not Taken, characters are the property of Disney… I went on a stealing spree today I guess**

**Chapter Four**

_** All the difference**_

_Just yesterday morning_

_They let me know you were gone_

_Susanne, the plans they made put an end to you_

_I walked out this morning, and I wrote this song_

_I just can't remember who to send it to_

Jerry Beale had always had a bit of a problem when it came to cueing in on other people's feelings. Raised a bologna-sandwich-on-Wonderbread American male, he didn't Tivo Thursday night drama series or cry when dogs named Skip died in movies. A man who rarely cried himself, the sight of another person in tears always left him curiously unaffected. He wasn't a bastard, but he was famous for laughing at spectacularly inappropriate times. It was just this lack of empathetic talent that had sent him to the emergency room with a stiletto lodged in his backside, not once, but twice in his romantic career, from two separate women at that. Nope, Jerry wasn't a sensitive man, but working in a profession whose hallmark was psychotic breakdown, one begins to recognize the signs. And Tyler Connell wasn't being very subtle as he wandered down the road to burn out.

The past couple of weeks had not been kind to the young math teacher. The rumor mill at KHS had always been lively, but Jerry hadn't heard Tyler's name run through it this much since they themselves had been students there. First came whispers from the janitorial staff about his destroyed classroom. Then faculty members started to complain; about his sporadic absences, the rotating subs for his first period classes, pandemonium in an unsupervised study hall. Finally, and, in Jerry's opinion, most intolerably, came the stories from the students. About periods spent solving one proof after another in silence, about his rumpled clothing and hang dog eyes, about an entire trigonometry class sentenced to detention after one joker taped a certain magazine cover onto the white board.

Concern for poor Mr. Connell was growing amongst the students and faculty of Kingsport High School. Which explains why Jerry was standing, two cardboard cups of gas station coffee in hand, at the faculty entrance of Kingsport High School, intending to intercept one Tyler Connell before he shuffled in for his first period Algebra class. In yesterday's suit.

"Hey, got a minute?" He asked, faking a casual attitude. Tyler blearily glanced at him, and Jerry was struck by the haggard look etched onto his friend's face.

"'ve got class." He muttered. Nevertheless Jerry watched him pause at the bottom of the steps, and got the distinct impression that he was contemplating pulling a runner.

"Nah, I asked Hays to get it for you. He still owes me for the 3 days I spent removing that worm he downloaded onto the school's network. You're free till 9:15… which gives you just enough time to change your shirt after we have our little chat here." Tyler flushed, looking guiltily down at his rumpled blue button down, the front pocket of which sported an enormous red ink stain from a minor pen catastrophe that had occurred… yesterday? He hoped it was that recent. Jerry sat down on the bottom step and passed him the lukewarm coffee. "Now, I realize that we don't have the greatest job in the world, but at some point you liked it. Or if like is too strong a word, you at least gave a shit about it." Pulling his face into an unfamiliar expression of sympathy he rested an awkward hand on Tyler's stooped shoulder. "What's goin' on here Connell? Why do I suddenly feel like I've gotta start staking out bridges?"

Tyler didn't respond for a while, except to sigh. In the past two weeks he felt like he'd aged years. But it wasn't mathematics, or students, or cafeteria duty had weighed him down. No, his job had become particularly challenging these past few weeks for one reason only… the hallways were exactly the same. At one point, not long ago he could walk past the same water fountains, trophy cases and bulletin boards without a thought as he made his way to his own dreary corner in academia. Now though, these same hallways, lined with their ancient maroon and gold lockers, were torturing him. Not one of them didn't hold a memory of her.

_Señora Cibeles' Spanish classroom, where they'd catch one another's eye as they pretended to conjugate verbs…_

_The cork board outside the guy's locker room, where she'd pin secret little notes for him to find after football practice…_

_The music room, where they'd snuck off to after Senior Homecoming. Where he removed the shining crown from the tangle of her updo and whispered that he loved her…_

Walking to his classroom in the mornings was like stumbling his way through a minefield. He didn't know why he didn't recall all of these memories when he'd first accepted his teaching position here, but ever since Sara and her damnable magazine, they were all he could see.

"You know that actress? Valerie Lanier?" he began, tentatively. At least he could say her name without shaking. At least he wasn't that pathetic.

"You mean the one in that Ward show? I've heard of her. Magazine covers and things… don't watch the show though, seems like too much of a student thing."

"Yeah… well, she's Val. Val Val. As in, my ex girlfriend Val." He said flatly. At this Jerry frowned, concentrating on a vague memory of blonde hair and a cheerleader's laugh. A computer "enthusiast" and field hockey player, Jerry had hung with an entirely different social crowd than Tyler's. Suddenly his eye brightened with understanding. Val, as in the epic high school love story that was Tyler and Val. King and queen of Kingsport High.

"Really? Oh, geez, I never made that connection! How bout that!" At Tyler's stormy expression, Jerry's cheerful surprise immediately died away. They sipped their coffee in the silence that followed; Tyler having once again resumed his brooding, and Jeff struggling to remember why a tiny post-it of a thought had attached itself to that particular name. Something that actually had nothing to do with Tyler at all…something to do with the school…and the centennial. "Oh, shit! That must be her reason then!" he said, reaching his conclusion out loud. Tyler waited patiently for him to finish the thought, but after an inordinate amount of silence finally asked

"What? Who's reason?"

"Huh? Oh, what do you mean? Weren't you at the BF&A meeting three days ago?" BF&A stood for Board of Faculty and Alumni. They had meetings once a month. Tyler had yet to go. "You know, being both faculty and alumni, you're really kind of obligated to be there. You're two of the three letters in the acronym." At Tyler's impatient glare, he continued "They announced that we'd be having a really special alumna here to host the centennial. Ms. Hollywood herself." He shrugged, apparently taking no notice of the wild, shocked expression on Tyler's face. "I wondered why any celebrity would agree to come out to Bumble for what's basically a glorified state fair. But if it's Val like you say, I guess that makes a lot of sense." And suddenly Tyler's coffee wasn't in his hands anymore; suddenly it was careening towards the ground, sending a lukewarm splashes of decaf over both of their pant legs.

_Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain_

_I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end_

_I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend_

_But I always thought that I'd see you again_

"She's- she's coming here?" Tyler gasped, barely noticing the soggy mess that was his shoes.

"Connell! What the hell?! I don't have any other clean pants!"

"Val's coming here?" He repeated senselessly.

"Yeah. Arrives tonight, they're planning to see a huge crowd at the airfield to welcome her." Jerry snapped, making useless swipes at his ruined khakis. Unhearing, Tyler rose to his feet and began walking away, dazed, in the general direction of his car. His face clouded with a mix of conflicting emotions, just a hint of the whirlwind that was going on in his mind as he tried to process this newest bit of information. Val was arriving here. Tonight. In Kingsport. After almost 8 years, she was finally back. Tyler wanted to laugh, and shout, and cry, and curse her all over again. What right did she have? To come barging back into his life, bringing all of her Hollywood glamour with her. Didn't she realize that he was doing just fine not knowing what had become of her?

"You owe me a new pair of cargos." Jerry shouted at Tyler's already retreating back.

* * *

_I've been walking my mind to an easy time  
My back turned towards the sun  
Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around  
Well, there's hours of time on the telephone line  
To talk about things to come  
Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground._

Val stared listlessly out of the Plexiglas window of the plane and took a healthy swallow from her second glass of merlot. In the back of her mind lingered the nervous thought that she was 40,000 feet in the air speeding towards Kingsport at 700 mph in what was basically a 27 ton steel cage. Precise measurements kindly provided to her by the chatty airline attendant, Kathy, who for her trouble was given the task of keeping Val's wineglass full the entire flight. _"Fear of flying isn't the least bit irrational."_ She mused glumly to herself "_It's just good common sense."_ She took another shaky swig from the cheap airline stemware, and forced her mind to focus on anything but the sharp terror that cut through her anytime the plane so much as jolted.

Estimated time till arrival, 2 ½ hours and counting.

Beside her, Helen slept fitfully, the white noise of the plane's engine doing nothing to drown out her intermittent snores. Logically, Val knew that Helen really had no say in the decision to move production to Kingsport for the remainder of the season, just as she had no real control over the ability to breathe through her nose while sleeping. However, buzzed and altitude dizzy, Val refused to heed logic, and so placed every one of her current problems on the lap of her manager… and so searched for subtle ways to broadcast her annoyance. Having already wasted an hour alternating between glaring daggers at the sleeping Helen and "accidentally" jabbing at her with her elbow, Val sunk down into her seat for a 2 ½ hour sulk.

She really, really didn't want to go to Kingsport. Understatement, yes, even with the extra "really". The lengths that she'd gone to avoid returning to that town, from skipping holidays as a poor lonely college student to moving her parents out to Malibu once she'd made it as a successful actress, would on any scale be considered fairly excessive. And for what reason?

Kingsport was ruined for her… hell, even the state of Virginia was a little iffy. And on the days that she was honest with herself, she knew that it had nothing to do with her image or maintaining any sort of Hollywood veneer. It all boiled down to one person, the boy she'd fled all those years ago with nothing better than a paltry "Dear John". Back then she was so sure that he wasn't The One; that the pangs she felt whenever she was separated from him were just the signs and symptoms of first love. So savvy was she in the ways of romance, she detached herself before she could really get hurt, packed up and went when life came a'calling, anticipating bigger things and truer love.

She'd never felt the pangs with anyone else. And for six years, she'd never felt butterflies. Now here she was, countless boyfriends and a broken engagement later, headed back to Kingsport, defeated and scared of ghosts.

The plane shuddered again and Karen sympathetically topped off her wine glass. Val, having found something more uncomfortable than turbulence to focus on, ignored the gesture.

_Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain  
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end  
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend  
But I always thought that I'd see you one more time again_

Sometimes she tried to imagine what her life would have been like had she stayed. If she'd heard him out instead of running, kissed him again instead of thrown her soda in his face. What would she have been? What could she have been?

"_**Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…"**_she mused ironically.

She'd imagined the thousands of lifetimes that branched off of that moment. Dreamed of thousands of scenarios; sometimes there were kids, a family, an apartment, a dog... everything and anything in a life that she might have had with him.

"_Don't leave me baby…"_

She could pinpoint the moment that had set her future in stone to her reaction to those four words. Before she packed her bags, before she even bought the plane ticket, she'd made a choice. It was her or it was them. And for all the guilt and all the shame that she carried away with her from Kingsport, she had to acknowledge the fact that she'd never hesitated in making her decision.

She was exactly where she'd chosen to be.

_**"And that"**_ she thought morosely_** "has made all the difference."**_

_Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain  
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end  
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend  
But I always thought that I'd see you, baby, one more time again, now_

_Thought I'd see you one more time again  
There's just a few things coming my way this time around, now  
Thought I'd see you, thought I'd see you fire and rain, now_


	7. Chapter 5 All I ever wanted

**A/N: ****Another**** short one, because there are many other things I should be writing instead of this, but hey, when the muse strikes, right? Right, so, updates are few and far between, but they are coming. Which brings me to another thought… you know that this site lets authors check their stats, and see how many people have taken a peep at their stories? So far… this one's been hit 250 times! And not all by me! So… somebody's reading**** even if no one but V. bothers to leave a review. Just… do ****me**** a favor and ****lemme**** know who you are? Takes like 5 seconds. ****Seriously.**** Please?**

**Disclaimer: ****Yadda**** yadda****… all hail Disney (seriously, do, cause High School Musical… genius!) Song is "All I Ever ****Wanted****" by Train… Go youtube it, cause it's an amazing song, and I like listening to the actual music when I read stories like this... so yeah... google that.**** Anyway, enjoy!**

**Chapter 5**

_**All I ever wanted**_

_You were my ticket out of here_

_And I was your dream come true_

_You gave me everything I ever wanted_

_Except for you_

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We're about 150 miles outside of Kingsport, and beginning our final descent into Kingsport Executive Airfield, so I'm going to have to ask you to return to your seats and fasten your seat beats. Cabin crew, cross check and prepare for landing…"

A ruined French manicure, nails bitten to the nail bed, dug into her arm rest as Val tried to consciously control her breathing, though what she was more afraid of, the descent or the deplaning, she wasn't quite sure…

_I convinced myself that over don't mean over_

_And I convinced myself that I could fix it all_

"Local time is 10:52 PM. On behalf of myself and the crew, Welcome to Virginia."

_Two dreams collided maybe_

_We got too excited for our own good?_

* * *

It was like throwing water onto an ant hill. One moment the small arrivals lounge at Kingsport executive had been as quiet as it'd ever been, if only a little more full. Conditions were made cramped by the mix of camera-strapped men milling around the small coffee kiosk, and the normal crowd of teeny boppers and fans that had come out hoping for a glimpse of celebrity. Then her plane rolled onto the tarmac, and the glorified waiting room had exploded in shouts and flashbulbs as they jostled for position at the heavily guarded Arrivals gate. 

A wise distance away from the jabbing elbows of the camera men, Tyler Connell was leaning heavily against the window of the lounge wondering why he was even there. He turned to peer through the thick glass behind him, staring past the spider web cracks in the glass at the small jet that rolled to a stop on the runway. Below him, men in white jumpsuits rolled a set of metal stairs to the only door behind the cockpit, and 20 of Kingsport's finest law enforcement officers swiftly fell in to place lining the small walkway leading from the steps to the entrance of the building, their stern expressions almost daring the photographers to come nearer.

The door of the small aircraft swung forward, and the crowd en mass lifted their cameras and began wildly clicking away. Tyler hung back, rooted at his post by the window as the crowd surged towards the gate.

Why was he here?

An answer so simple, it was almost laughable: Because she was.

_No more "Hold on, we can make it"_

_No more holding each other while the words all break it_

_Move on, you know_

_We'll be stronger in the end_

She couldn't breathe. Hidden somewhat unglamorously under the airline blanket that Helen had thrown over her head, Val struggled to catch her breath behind the curtain of her own hair and cheap wool as her hired security team hustled her out the door of the plane. Somewhere in the vague direction of left she could hear Helen shrieking "Who leaked our arrival time?!" over the roar of what she assumed was the fairly large mob that had gathered at the small airport. Blinded, but not unaware of the press of the crowd on both sides of the police barricade, Val knew she had a decision to make. Fight or flight. And Val, though known for being a frequent flier in times of trouble, decided that she wasn't going to sneak back into her hometown under a blanket like a scared 3 year old. Like it or not, she was here, and she sure as hell was going to make the best of it.

Besides, she reasoned, one did not become a media darling by furtively sneaking away from fans.

And so, with something vaguely resembling courage, she whipped the blanket off of her head… and was greeted by an apocalypse of camera flashes. _"Boy, am I __gonna__ miss the use of my retinas" _she thought, scrunching her face up against mini explosions of light.

"Well if your gonna go and do that, the least you can do is smile." Helen groused. She slipped sunglasses on over her tired eyes, and gestured for Val to do the same. "Royce, how are we doing on security? No crazies jumping out at you?" The burly security guard shrugged, straining the shoulders of his apparently Baby-Gap sized t-shirt.

"How am I supposed to spot just one in this crowd of nut jobs?" He paused, something in the windows of the building having caught his attention. "Gotta tell ya though… if we're lookin' for weirdos, I like that guy for it." Tired blue eyes followed the line of his glare to the still figure backlit by the fluorescent lighting inside the airport, his face obscured by the glare behind him.

Her eyes widened. She knew that slouch.

Biting her lip, letting the pain bring her back to reality (because clearly, she had to be hallucinating again) she squinted harder, waiting for him to become a lamp post, a decorative ficus- anything, any one else.

_Because she knew the set of those shoulders._Better than she'd known anything else in her life, she knew that faux casual slump. How couldn't she? How many times, after all, had she watched him out of the corner of her eye when, just like now, he'd carelessly shove his hands in his pockets to fiddle with his keys (like he always did when he was forcing himself not to come to her)? How couldn't she? When she'd spent hours and days and months watching his every movement, every posture, hanging on his every word, searching for any indication, any sign that he felt even remotely the way she did. Then more: hours and days and months, memorizing him, because she loved him, because he was hers. Did he really think that a couple of years could change the fact that she could pick him out of a crowd, could spot him at 20 paces?

She bit down harder, drew blood. He remained at the window, stubbornly refusing to become imaginary.

God. Fucking. Dammit.

_Now I convinced myself _

_That nothing could ever tear me away_

_And I convinced myself that we'd look back and laugh at this_

_Some day_

She was suddenly aware that she had stopped moving, mainly because Helen and the security team had frozen in a protective tableau around her, sensing her tension and responding accordingly.

"Honey? Time to go inside now… most definitely not time to be staring into space and swaying like a cobra." Helen hissed into her ear as she tugged her forward. The paparazzi continued to click away madly, smelling Val's panic like hounds on a fox, eager for another breakdown, another headline, another thousand bucks made at her expense. Helen could see it now, her client's greasy hair and travel clothes on the cover of inTouch magazine, the caption reading "Val Lanier: Dazed and Confused!" in 24 point yellow font. She was mentally tallying the pros and cons of signaling Royce to haul Val up onto his shoulder and cart her into the airport, when her client considerately made the decision easy for her. She passed out.

_Two lives __collidin__' baby_

_We got too excited for our own good…_

There were few things scarier than an unruly mob, but seeing her go down in the midst of them was enough to finally propel him into the fray. Pushing himself off the wall, Tyler breathlessly charged out the door, shoving past bewildered policemen and knocking back camera men until he found himself at the edge of the tight circle of her obviously well trained security.

"If you want the use of all four of your limbs in the near future, you're gonna step the hell back right now." The biggest, and evidently most senior of the meat heads growled. Continuing his recent surge in unwise decision making, Tyler stood his ground.

"I have- Let me help her. I have EMS training." He said shakily, not once removing his gaze from the hysterical older woman cradling Val's fallen form on the ground.

"Paramedics are on the way. Forgive me for not taking the word of a random sketch ball from the crowd."

"For Christ's sake Royce, just let him in!" the woman shrieked, growing ever more panicked as her light slaps to Val's face failed to rouse her. Muttering obscenities, the body guard reluctantly stepped back, allowing Tyler just enough room to drop to his knees and grab her wrist in search of a pulse. He needed the reassurance of three steady beats before he visibly relaxed, then tensed again as the woman continued to screech in his ear. "Of course she'd have a pulse! What 20 year old dies on an airport runway?! But why isn't she waking up?! MAKE HER WAKE UP!" she demanded. Tyler's grip on Val's wrist tightened, and he took note of the thinness of the skin above the narrow bone. God, when was the last time she'd eaten?

"When was the last time she ate?" He asked harshly.

"She had a piece of Wasa bread and some cottage cheese before we left for the airport this morning. And some wine on the plane." About 2 ½ glasses actually. Helen sighed, silently praying her client hadn't passed out drunk. Tyler winced.

"Probably just exhaustion then, that and ridiculously low blood sugar. Alcohol didn't help either." He shifted, taking advantage of Helen's distraction to pull the unmoving Val into his arms. Gently he slipped his hand under her chin and tilted her face up towards his; it was thinner then he had ever really seen it before. He could see the beginnings of dark shadows creeping at the edges of her sunglasses, and took them off to reveal the ravages of self imposed starvation and exhaustion. Her skin, stripped it of its golden tone, was painted in a pallet of ash and shadow. He swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat.

Still beautiful.

"I'm hoping she's out for the night, which'll give her a chance to recoup on some of the sleep it looks like she's been missing out on." He said evenly. Helen narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the gentle way that he brushed an errant strand of hair away from where it had stuck to her lip gloss. "Best to just call a car around and take her to the hotel."

Almost as if she'd timed it, her eyes slowly fluttered open just as the words left his mouth. Tyler bit back a smirk. His girl had always been contrary.

_No more, "Hold on we can make it."_

_No more __holdin__' each other while the __truth all breaks it_

_Move on, you know, we'll be stronger in the end…_

Foggy, unfocused blue met pale grey as the two blondes stared at one another for the first time in nearly a decade. She smiled in that hazy, silly way that let him know that she wasn't all there yet.

"Hey Stranger."

_Hey wait, hey don't you know_

_That this is where the whole thing went wrong?_

_Hey __wait,__ hey don't you __wanna__ hear what I have to say?_

"Val."

His tone was neutral, even professional, but Helen noticed right away how the hand he'd wrapped around Val's pulse point was white-knuckled and shaking. She also noticed that her client had yet to scream and demand to know who he was, and that she was looking at this man as if… as if…

As if she already knew him. And well.

"I think I passed out." Val giggled, talking to this not!stranger in a small loopy voice that matched her smile. "You're usually only here when I'm out… or sleeping…" she pouted and reached up to run her fingers along his cheekbone. Helen and Royce, still waiting to be acknowledged by the small blonde superstar, exchanged a look. _Definitely not a stranger._ "You're real. You're not a ficus." She mumbled, before her blue eyes blinked out, and she once again succumbed to her exhaustion.

Tyler bit back a confused grin, but resisted the urge to wake her and demand to know what she was talking about. It was for the best that she stayed asleep; that her people got her to her hotel, tucked her into bed and allowed her begin paying off what looked to be a rather large sleep deficit.

It was probably even for the best if she woke up thinking she'd had one helluva dream.

_Hey wait, hey don't you know?_

_This is where the strong will go on_

Slowly, and though he would never admit it to himself, reluctantly, he stood, cradling her limp form in his arms. "Like I said, out for the night." At the periphery of the crowd he noticed the belated arrival of the EMS vehicle onto the tarmac. "You should probably just have them check her out to be sure, but I think bed is probably the best place for her right now." He gingerly handed Val over to Royce, only now realizing that their every movement was being caught on film. Awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets, he threw one last significant look at the sleeping girl in the bodyguard's arms and turned to go. The crowd parted in front of him, some photographers raising their cameras to snap his photo, others pushing their way forward to get his statement, or at the very least his name.

Because even though they hadn't heard a word of what went on within the tight bodyguard circle surrounding the fallen superstar, they could tell that this guy wasn't just some random yahoo playing lifesaver. Dozens of photos of him gently embracing the passed out paparazzi princess said otherwise. It was all there on his face, captured on film a hundred times over. She meant something to him… and from what they witnessed during Val's brief foray into the world of the conscious, he meant something to her too.

_No more, "Hold on we can make it"_

_No more __holdin__' each other while the world tries to break us_

_Move on, __ya__ know, we'll be stronger in the end_

* * *

"Hey Helen, wanna see something weird?" 

They were in the back of the ambulance now, Val curled up comfortably on a stretcher as the vehicle tore through every traffic light in the city towards their B&B. Helen sighed heavily, the stress of the evening having finally taken its toll and leaving her unable to raise her head from her hands to acknowledge the bodyguard.

"What" she muttered, looking every day of her 54 years.

"She's smiling."

_Hey wait, hey don't you know_

_That this is where the whole thing went wrong?_

_Hey wait, hey don't you wanna hear what I have to say?_

_Hey wait, hey don't you know?_

_This is where the strong will go on_

_And all I ever wanted_

_All I ever wanted_

_**Was you**  
_

**A/N: I am evil. Leave me a**** note****, and Ch. 6 should be up soon. That's right. I'm holding it ransom.**** Cause, well, hello! Evil!**


	8. Chapter 6 For all the time it takes

**A/N: I'm blown away by how much attention this story has received, especially given the fact that this show hasn't been on TV for at least 5 years. You guys really came through, checking out the stories and leaving your reviews. Like I said, blew me right away. **

**Anyway, chapters should be coming fast and furious now, given that the holidays are approaching and I'm going to have a lot more free time not spent researching and worrying, so keep reading! I haven't given up on this story yet, and neither should you.**

**Disclaimers: Don't own anything. Characters belong to Disney, the song is Evan and Jaron "You Don't Know Me" Which is, incidentally, the only holdover from the original version of the story. So there, put that in your mouth, enjoy that. **

**Chapter Six**

_**For all the time it takes**_

_I run these stories through my head_

_Of her comin' home_

_And Us, just staring at each other_

_And we'll both know_

_Yeah, we'll just know_

Tyler woke up to the sound of his own name playing on the alarm clock radio.

"…And in our top news story today, local KHS math teacher Tyler Connell gained national notoriety after rushing to the aid of Val Lanier, whose arrival at Kingsport Executive Airfield last night was interrupted when the Ward star collapsed on the airport runway. Though WAPE tried to contact her publicist following last night's incident, as of yet no comment has been issued from the troubled starlet's camp regarding the cause of her collapse, or of her relation to Mr. Connell…"

It was at this point that Tyler, now wide awake, slammed his hand down on the snooze button, interrupting the morning DJ's laughing speculation as to the cause of Val's "exhaustion." Lying back in his bed in the 15 minutes of silence allowed by his snooze button, he stoically forbade himself to think of the events of the previous evening. It was a heroic effort, one that entailed locking away any and all memories associated with how it felt to again hold the fragile, real weight of her in his arms. Luckily for him, he already had a fairly large section in his mind especially set aside as a clearing house for repressed Val-memories.

He wondered if it was true, what they said about severe repression causing brain tumors. If so, he had a walnut-sized tumor that he'd like to dedicate to a certain bleach blonde TV star.

_And I won't care that she took me through a maze_

_A left me there for days_

_Until she made_

_Her mind to go away_

Careful to keep his mind blank, he rolled out of bed and methodically set about preparing himself for the school day. Stretched. Yawned. Scratched his head.

Pulled out his faded Kingsport EMS t-shirt to wear with his dress pants.

He shook himself out of his daze and frowned at the t-shirt in his hand. He couldn't wear that to class; he hadn't, as a matter of fact, worn that particular shirt in years.

Shower. He let the water run cold and tensed his muscles against the chill, because if the morning talk radio was any indication, he was gonna be tense all day anyway. Lather. Rinse. No time to repeat.

He allowed himself to puzzle over something inconsequential as he shaved. Like how there had been something familiar about the way she smelled last night. Over and above the trendy perfume and the smell of wine on her breath when she sighed.

Strawberry lip gloss. He'd always liked that sticky, sweet scent.

He recalled liking the way it tasted too.

_You'd think I'd know by now_

_You'd think I'd wash this down_

_Did you think I'd hurt her now?_

_Just to heal my heart?_

As he padded barefoot into the kitchen to grab a Red Bull and peel a grapefruit for breakfast, he ignored the sound of his name on the morning news report.

"Sources say that the man was Kingsport resident Tyler Connell…"

His home phone rang, he ignored that too, let the machine get it.

"CONNELL!!! It's Jerry. Pickuppickuppickuppickup. I know you're home, it isn't even 7:30 yet. Pick up the goddamn phone! You're on page A-1 of USA Today!"

The answering machine cut him off, but apparently what Jerry lacked in sensitivity he more than made up for in persistence. Tyler's seldom used cell phone startled him as it began to vibrate wildly on the kitchen counter. He glanced down at the cracked digital display.

47 missed calls.

The tinned voice of his landline answering machine announced rather matter-of-factly. "You have 10 new messages."

Finally forced to react to the extraordinary amount of attention he was receiving, Tyler grabbed the kitchen phone off the wall and dialed the number for the KHS main office, and, upon getting the automated answer service, made the second important decision of his day.

He called in sick.

* * *

_Then you don't know me_

_You don't know me_

_You don't know me_

_She don't owe me anything_

If Val had to choose her least favorite thing about passing out from exhaustion, it would have to be this: That no matter how obscene a sleep deficit one's body had yet to pay off, it was still almost impossible to control the when's and how's of waking up.

On this particular day, she greeted the wrong side of dawn.

The suite that she didn't recall checking into came equipped with a quaint wind up alarm clock and a malicious coffee maker, and a quick glance at the first proved the necessity of the other. She scalded herself twice before finally producing a grainy cup of Maxwell House mud-caf. Singed but triumphant, she padded silently into the living room, intent on familiarizing herself with her oversized suite.

Instead she tripped over an already familiar roommate hunkered down on the living room floor.

"Royce!" she shrieked, dropping the scalding hot mug near the vicinity of what she hoped was his feet. The bodyguard leapt to his feet with a roar, brushing scalding hot coffee sludge off of his pajama leg. "Jesus! I didn't see-What the hell are you doing on my floor!?" she yelled, even as guilt and panic drove her to run back into her room in search of a towel.

"Apparently subjecting myself to medieval forms of torture." He hollered, still frantically brushing the molten gruel away from vital parts of his anatomy. "What the hell is this?! This shit sticks like napalm." Val hurried back out of her bedroom, repentantly holding out a towel made of fluffy yellow cotton.

"I made coffee."

_I'd love to think that she_

_Was out to hurt me_

_And given the facts still maybe we_

_We could, you know, we could try again_

With all spills wiped up and burns properly salved, Royce and Val sat quietly on the couch in the living room watching a Law & Order rerun as a fresh pot of coffee (this time successfully made by Royce) heated on the machine. "The coffee machine is sexist." She grumbled quietly, nevertheless taking a long satisfying sip from her mug.

"Yeah, but it also does tend to work better when you use a filter." The bodyguard shot back, taking his eyes off the screen long enough to shoot her an ironic grin. Val stuck her tongue out at him in response and emptied her mug. She stood and stretched, frowning when she felt a pull at her lower back.

"I think I'm going to go for a run… get some oxygen flowing into my creaky bones." She said decisively, ignoring the dark sky that still sat on the other side of the window. Royce shrugged, not getting up to join her.

"It's cold." He said, concentrating on the plot line instead.

"Yeah. They have seasons here. This one's Fall." She walked into her room and began opening closets and cabinets in search of the contents of her now empty luggage. "Who unpacked all of my stuff? Where are my MBT's?" she yelled, ducking under the bed in search of her trainers.

"Helen did it. Stuff's put away in the clo-"

"Found them! Bye!" A blur of blonde hair and blue track pants and Val sprinted out the door of the suite. "See you in an hour!" The door slammed and locked, leaving a bemused Royce alone in the living room- holding the room key.

"I guess I'll just wait here for you to get back then…" he announced to the empty room. Outside, the sky lightened to a streaky indigo as the clock finally made its way to 5:30, and Royce's mood lightened considerably as he realized that he would be left at peace (and out of danger) for at least the next 45 minutes inside the inn's nicest suite. Bunny slippered size 12's clattered onto the coffee table as he sunk into a rapidly forming butt groove on the down filled sofa. "Room service, anyone?"

_But she didn't mean the harm she put me through_

_And I could never go to her and trust_

_That she would ever care_

* * *

She was running through the streets of her hometown as the sun climbed over the tree tops, and in 6 years not a thing had changed. It was like being the central character in a Nicholas Sparks novel, except that Val wasn't altogether fond of the nostalgia brought about by passing the familiar store fronts of Jake's Hardware and Sammi's Dog Grooming.

_You'd think that in 6 years the community could manage to support a Target or something._

This thought, which had sprung into her mind completely unbidden, showed just how much she wasn't the "aw-shucks" small town sweetheart that Helen insisted she still pretend to be.

Fact of life: People change much, much faster than towns.

In the window of Jake's hung a maroon banner, on which "Go Cobras, Beat the Bulldogs!" was printed in blocky yellow paint on the fraying silk. She froze in front of the window, and very deliberately placed her hand on the glass, lining narrow fingers up precisely with those of the smudgy yellow hand print in the banner's upper left hand corner.

* * *

_Hands calloused from catching the grimy leather football wrapped securely around her waist from behind as she bent down to dot the exclamation point with a cutesy yellow handprint. Startled because she'd thought she was alone, she stumbled forward, instead planting a smudgy yellow mark on the pristine maroon silk. Frowning, she spun to face her accoster, her yellow hand held up in a threatening "I'm going to mark your face up with this paint" gesture._

_"Asshat! That was the actual banner!" she shrieked, dive bombing to run the paint smudge hand through the offender's dirty-brown hair. Tyler laughed and twisted away from his girlfriend's dripping yellow palm, but post-practice he was sore and showed none of the famous Connell agility that had gotten them to the regional play-offs this season. _

_Consequently, he was now blinking up at her from his new position-laid out on his ass on the floor, where he'd landed hard on his back two seconds earlier. Dropping down to her hands and knees, Val stalked towards him, a predatory grin on her normally sweet face. "You're a rude little boy, sneaking up on unsuspecting artisans like that." She said, straddling his lap to effectively pin him underneath her. She twined her arms around his neck and pressed her small form against his now tense one. One furtive glance down to hall to make sure no faculty was roaming about after class, and she moved in, nuzzling his cheek with her nose before closing in to bring her lips inches from his. Tyler closed his eyes, breathing heavily in anticipation and marveling how his gangly, perky little blonde could instantly flip a switch and turn from cheerleader to seductress in an instant._

_He was the luckiest man alive._

_He yelped as something cold, wet, and definitely not tasting of strawberry was slapped across his face, and then was bereft as he felt the small weight of her leave his lap as she tore away down the hall, giggling madly. Rivers of yellow paint crept down his cheeks and below his collar, but he was grinning even as he leapt to his feet and took off after her down the hallway brandishing her discarded paintbrush and shouting. "You're gonna pay for that!"_

* * *

Every morning as he walked to the high school for his first class, Tyler stopped in at Shelby's to pick up a sandwich for lunch and have his morning cup of coffee at the counter, where Shelby herself kept the morning paper waiting for Kingsport's favorite son. Having absolved himself of any work-related activities for the day, and completely unwilling to sit at home and listen to his phone ring off the hook until bedtime, Tyler saw no reason why he should buck tradition. So at quarter to 6 he threw on his jacket and walked out the door into the still dark November morning, strolling down the still empty Main St. towards Shelby's 24 hour haven, conveniently located two doors down from her husband Jake's hardware store.

Tyler, like most people forced to be up at dawn for their day jobs, pretended to covet the loneliness of the wee hours of the morning, when shops remained closed and the streets were still empty. At the very least it was quiet time, the last thirty minutes of his day without teenagers or pesky co-workers and their stilted interventional pep talks. Just him, streets swept clean of the previous evening's trash, and empty sidewalks. Or, in the case of this morning, nearly empty sidewalks.

Tyler frowned and pulled his collar up to obscure his face as he approached the solitary figure admiring the display in the front window of Jake's store. A town as small as Kingsport, where a majority of the citizenship had attended at least one of your birthday parties, had its mandatory social pleasantries. Today in particular, Tyler was in the mood to sail on by without speaking to anybody. That is, until her soft curse stopped him in his tracks.

"Well, bugger all for ironic timing."

_You'd think I'd know by now_

_You'd think I'd wash this down_

_Did you think I'd hurt her now?_

_Just to heal my heart? _

He'd pivoted at the sound of her voice and now stood staring at her with an ironic, almost hysterical grin on his face. Meanwhile, Val was busy picking at her cuticles and staring in any direction but his—and with good reason, because for that split second after he turned, for that moment just after she'd resurfaced from her meandering down high school memory lane only to find the object of her musings strolling down the _god damn street_ in her direction, she'd caught a glimpse of his eyes. Blue eyes that, like the rest of this God-forsaken hell hole, had remained almost completely unchanged. And something in her stomach dropped and fluttered.

Butterflies.

Val's throat tightened and she felt the corresponding twinge at the corners of both her eyes.

She had had just about enough of omniscient deities and their sick senses of humor.

_Then you don't know me_

_You don't know me_

There was every reason to drop his head and keep walking. To pretend he hadn't heard her and continue onward, to a warm, solitary bar stool and an equally welcoming cup of coffee. She wasn't even looking at him anyway; she just continued to stand there, muttering at her cuticles. He could just move on like he'd never heard her, and she'd walk off in the other direction, and they could both continue their morning activities and remain in the land of the sane.

Then he saw the sliver of white as her top teeth caught her bottom lip, nibbling it in a gesture that was so characteristically _Val _that it made him swallow hard, shudder, and finally jump right off the bus to sanity.

"Coffee?"

_You don't know me_

_And she don't owe me anything._

_"This is badness"_logical!Val screamed "_Run…run now…NOW! RUN!"_

"Coffee." She rolled the word over her tongue, weighed the idea for a moment, and finally smiled. "Coffee sounds great."

_If time is all it takes_

_Then I've got plenty of that_

_Plenty of that_

_And I'm a better man_

_For all the time it takes._

_Did you think I'd hurt her now?_

_Just to heal my heart?_

_Well you don't know me_

_And she don't owe me anything…_

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, so I figured I couldn't put off the inevitable meeting forever… so there you go.**

**The end? Not by a long shot! Review, tell me who you are, whatcha think, whatcha want. I'm a whore like that.**


	9. Chapter 7 The Stranger

**A/N: Well, that too way longer than expected. **_Italics _**indicate past time, whereas bolded words are the song lyrics. **

**Disclaimer: Te characters in this story are "borrowed" from the Disney channel series "In a Heartbeat" though, as far as I know, the time line is my own, as is this plot… Song is "The Stranger" by the band O.A.R. In the near future, you can check my store on iTunes or Amazon and download the soundtrack for this story... If you're interested, please, let me know in your review, and I'll post the link.**

**Chapter Seven**

_**A Stranger**_

"_So… coffee after an owl shift? You intend to sleep ever?" Val teased her friend lightly, nevertheless pulling her down jacket out of her locker and pulling it on. Tyler wound his scarf tightly around his head, simultaneously hiding the reddening of his ears and muffling anything else he chose to say._

_"'Mmphbrg" he mumbled, struggling with the zipper of his parka. Val quirked an eyebrow and tugged his scarf down under his chin. _

_"Come again?" she said cheekily._

_"I'm not tired." He replied, biting back an ironically timed yawn. "And I'll buy…and…and it'll warm us both up for the walk home." He hiked the scarf back up over his nose for emphasis. "It's freezing." Val didn't bother hiding her own yawn as she grabbed her back pack._

_"This might help." She said before pulling a maroon and gold striped beanie out of her backpack and shyly presenting it to him. "I got bored again on our last overnight shift… and figured what good is just a scarf if you catch a head cold?" Delighted, Tyler jammed the itchy cap snugly onto his head. _

_"Have I mentioned yet today how awesome you are? I mean seriously? Best friend ever!" Their eyes met in a significant glance, before Val nervously cleared her throat and directed her gaze back down to the ground, face conspicuously pink. "A-any way, um… coffee?" Tyler stammered, equally unbalanced by the exchange. They walked out the station doors together, unconsciously falling in step and the huddling into one another for warmth. Then, punch drunk on their proximity, Tyler continued speaking. "And maybe, I'll walk you home after? I mean, cause it's on the way, and walking alone when it's cold—" _

_They were rounding the corner towards Shelby's, and Val bit her bottom lip and continued to stare at her feet, half hearing Tyler's nervous babble. His finale made her head snap up though. "Or, you know, we could hang out or something too…" She held her breath and waited for him to finish his thought, hazarding eye contact again when he trailed off. Nerves already on a razor wire, Tyler had taken her hopeful silence and tomato complexion the wrong way, and stumbled over himself to back track. " I sorry…I mean…you're tired, and we just pulled and all nighter, you probably just wanna go home and sleep next to a heating vent or something…"_

"_No, actually… I'd really like that." She finally interjected as they walked into the coffee shop. "I-if you aren't busy, and I'm not busy…maybe we could just, hibernate in front of the TV together?" The warm smell of coffee and cinnamon roles was doing wonders for her confidence, and she snuck her tightly balled gloved fist out of her jacket pocket to grab his hand. "I think that'd be a really nice way to waste a day, don't you?" Tyler stared at the small hand tucked into his, a goofy incredulous smile on his face, before finally interlacing their fingers and guiding her towards the counter._

"_Yeah… me too."_

* * *

**Crossing this country, I'm stalling**

**I'm comin' down**

**Over my head, I'm fallin'**

**Will I be found?**

"Ms. Shelby! Mr. Connell's in here for his coffee!" Shelby Dawson, the 65 year old proprietor of the coffee shop bearing her name, looked up from her account ledger, slightly annoyed at her busboy's interruption.

"Well, pour him his coffee and set it next to his paper and sandwich! I left it all on the counter." She shook her head and went back to her figures, muttering "Lord _knows_ it's the same every day. Not like that man to change his routine or nothing."

Matt stared at the door to his manager's office and then back at the spectacle in front of him, wondering if it would be worth his job disturb his boss again on bill day. Mr. Connell stood in front of the cash register, scanning a breakfast menu as he waited for his table. The cause of Matt's confusion was what was standing behind him, or, more accurately, _who._ Poorly concealed behind her faded baseball cap was Val Lanier, and from the way she nervously hovered behind the young teacher, they were clearly there together. "A b-booth in the c-corner then?" He stammered.

"I'm not gonna need that sandwich." Tyler replied as he forced the best smile he could muster onto his face. Val snickered at the resulting grimace.

**I've had to be a million places at once**

**But that's not me**

"You're a regular here? You have a daily _sandwich?_" She whispered as they took their seats. Tyler simply shrugged in reply, handing her a menu. "Talk about a hometown hero." She muttered scanning the breakfast choices, a myriad of options, all involving some combination of fried meat, eggs and bad carbs. "A cup of chamomile tea, please." She said politely, handing her menu to the still hovering Matt.

"You're her, aren't you? That girl from Ward? Julia?" the busboy asked before he could be shooed away. Tyler glared harder into his menu, but her smile never wavered.

"That's me, but offset they call me Val." She said with a cheeky wink. Matt's eyes lit up and he hastily handed the menu back to her.

"F-for the wall? We don't get a lot of famous people here. The weatherman from Channel 5 stopped by during last year's blizzard but he wasn't nearly as pretty-"

"I'll have coffee." Tyler finally interrupted. "Black." Val frowned at her companion and quickly pulled a pink sharpie out of her jacket pocket and signed the menu. Tyler stared incredulously as she recapped the pen and slipped it back into her pocket. "You carry a marker around… to sign things." The beginnings of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. "A pink marker." Val rolled her eyes and smiled-- her first real one since she'd arrived in Kingsport.

"Oh you know, big celebrity. Normally I have headshots too, but, kinda tough to store those in a jogging suit." She bit her lip to indicate that she was joking, and Tyler finally felt himself relax.

"Big shot celebrity, huh?" Val shrugged

"I don't have a_sandwich_ or anything, but yeah… people know me too." Her face softened and she reached across the table and, like she'd done in this coffee shop a decade before, broke the contact barrier between them. "That was you last night, in the airport?" He nodded sheepishly and stared at her hands resting on top of his. "Thanks."

**I'm a stranger**

**On the outside**

**When I'm not right next to you**

"I never thought I'd see you here again." He finally said. "Quite an entrance you made last night though." It was Val's turn to look embarrassed, and Tyler immediately began to backtrack. "I mean, with the whole, paparazzi and the fans and everything—I didn't mean—"

"No, it's all right… I mean, I did kinda of pass out… no need to ignore _that_ elephant." She sighed heavily, looking lost for a minute as she struggled to change the subject. "But…what are you doing here? I mean with the whole 'Mister Connell' thing and the coffee and the paper-- You're still living here?" Tyler's expression hardened and he pulled his hands out of hers.

"Yeah, well we can't all live _the life_ now, can we?" He folded his arms tightly across his chest "I have a life here, a job. It isn't lunch on Rodeo every day, but on most, I'm happy." The chill in his voice was one that she was unaccustomed to hearing, and Val recoiled into her seat.

"That wasn't what I meant, I was just surprised to see you here, is all…" she felt another sigh build up in her chest; this was exactly the reason why she didn't want to _be_ _here_ right now. She left because she never wanted to have to do this, not with him, not ever. The memories were bad enough, but dealing with Tyler himself as if…as if he was a stranger! Having to make polite small talk and navigate around landmines, when all she really wanted was… "Can we start again? Just, from scratch?" she pasted a bright smile onto her face and extended her hand. "Nice to see you again Tyler! I'm so happy that you're happy, and successful, and hey, a big _Thank You_ for picking me up last night, I was in quite a pickle." The words "Thank you" came out sounding more like "Screw you" as she slid out of the booth, startling the already flustered Matthew, who'd arrived with their drinks. "So, anyway, I'll see you around." She said, tossing a ten dollar bill onto the table to pay for their drinks. "Matt, you can keep the change." Tyler continued to sit defiantly at the booth, staring hard at the empty space on the table where their hands once rested.

**I remember how to get there**

**Will you be there when I'm coming through?**

"Second verse, same as the first. Off she goes again ladies and gentlemen." He muttered. Val spun mid-step, hands on hips.

"And what in the hell is that supposed to mean?" Tyler calmly sipped his coffee, ignoring the irate blonde towering over him. "Don't you dare ignore me you…you…"

"You're running again." He finally said, taking another healthy swallow of the lukewarm coffee. "This is getting to be a habit with you, huh? I thought it was just the once, but you've gotten pretty good at making tracks when things don't go your way." Another sip, another long, disdainful look. "Thanks for not tossing my drink at me this time. This would sting a good deal more than a soda." He stuck his finger into the inky black liquid and shrugged. "Then again, maybe not…top this off from the fresh pot Matt, will you?" Sensing the dangerous current running between the two blondes, the busboy grabbed the mug and scampered.

"You arrogant son of a—nobody talks to me like that!" she hissed, unwilling to make a scene. Nevertheless she flounced back to the booth and sat-- to glare at him at eye level, she told herself.

"You're not doing the whole '_Do you know who I am?'_ routine are you? Cause I assure you. I do." He struggled to maintain his icy, detached veneer, using his two years of experience dealing with spoiled, disruptive teenagers as a guide. Never mind that the coffee was churning its way though his stomach lining; just as long as she didn't see him rattled Val stared wordlessly at the man seated across from her, unexpectedly hurt by the foreign chill in his voice and the hard set of his shoulders.

Fact of life: People change much, much faster than towns.

* * *

_"You two, some cocoa? It's freezing out there, and what are you doing out in a blizzard this early on a Saturday?!" _

_Val's teeth were chattering, but she nevertheless managed to smile at Ms. Shelby's maternal scolding. "Overnight shift at the s-s-tation. We just g-got o-off." Tyler briskly rubbed his hands over her shaking arms, hoping to warm her with the friction, but quickly realized the intimacy that this move implied and dropped his hands down by his side. Val frowned at the loss of contact. "Anyway, coffee? Hot coffee? P-perfect r-right about now." Shelby nodded and gestured for them to take a seat in one of the booths in the back. She'd always been fond of this particular duo, having kept up with them after they'd responded to a 911 call for one of her husband Jake's angina flare-ups. Together or separately, they often came to check in on her or her husband, and Shelby, a sucker for a romantic story, had many a time sat down with one of them over a soda or a cup of cocoa, listening as each one lamented over their unrequited crushes…naturally on one another. She smiled as she watched Tyler guide the frozen cheerleader to a booth situated under the nearest heating vent, and rolled her eyes as she watched them squabble over whether or not she'd take his jacket. There was an intimacy between those two that she rarely saw between couples, and she just knew that if one of them mustered enough courage to tell the other about their feelings, together they'd be something… extraordinary. _

_It was getting to the point where she was contemplating involving herself in a Lucy-esq scheme to get them together, even if it would mean taking a hit in her hot cocoa sales department._

_This is why she was so elated to walk up to the table to find the two blondes holding hands. Holding back her delighted squeal, she instead settled for raising her eyebrow significantly in Val's direction and was rewarded by the reddening of the blonde's complexion, followed by her shy giggle. "And what else can I get you two besides the coffee?"_

_Tyler took his hand away from Val's only long enough to sheepishly rub the back of his neck. "Er… actually, Ms. Shelby, can we get a couple of cinnamon rolls and two large hot mochas to go?" He grasped Val's gloved fingers as if to warm them, and Shelby felt her smile grow impossibly wider. "It's a little cold and early to be away from home just yet." He smiled conspiratorially at his companion who bit her lip and inclined her head towards him in the manner of wordless communication, or else, that's what Shelby assumed it was, given that Tyler bolted to attention as if she'd barked a command. "Oh, and could you shake a couple of rainbow sprinkles on Val's? She's a big weirdo about rainbow sprinkles." He teased affectionately. There was a warmth surrounding the teenage couple that couldn't entirely be explained by the nearby heating vent, and it took some effort for Shelby to tear her overly romantic self away from their table to fetch their order. She watched them discreetly from behind the counter as Val leaned across the table to kiss him softly on the cheek, but knew enough to pretend to busy herself with the coffee maker as they walked up to the register to pick up their order._

"_That'll be $5.50 darlin'." She said, nodding in approval as Tyler immediately pulled out his wallet. Unable to completely contain her nosiness, she finally blurted "So what are y'all doing the rest of this cold day? Bundlin' up and staying home, if you're smart." Another secretive glance was exchanged between the two, before Val finally replied for the both of them._

"_Just wasting the day…together I guess."_

* * *

**Crossing this room to my lovely**

**My saving grace**

**Promise that time hasn't lost me**

**And don't turn away**

"You know what? I don't even know what I was thinking coming back here." She finally said; her voice venomless, her tone sad. "I'm just gonna—I'm just gonna get going." She stood up again, her step this time lacking its previous indignant flounce as pulled on her coat to leave. "It really was… nice, seeing you here again." And against her better judgment she leaned in and kissed him softly on the cheek, a gesture that, given their location and the memories previously associated with it, made both their chests ache.

**I've had to be a million faces at once**

**But that's not me**

**That's not me**

He wanted to stop her, to jump out of his seat and block her exit. To grab her arm and beg her to sit back down and at the very least, finish her tea. He'd been angry, yes, really angry, only moments before, but as he watched her slender form disappear down the sidewalk eight years of righteous rage drained themselves right out of his body. Now all he felt was déjà vu as he sat like a stone and watched her walk away again.

**I'm a stranger**

**On the outside**

**When I'm not right next to you**

**I remember how to get there**

**Will you be there when I'm coming through?**

"Tell me that I didn't just see what I think I saw." Shelby said gruffly, sliding her considerable frame into the booth where Val had been sitting only minutes before. "Matt tells me to come out here because Val Lanier was sitting at a booth and eating breakfast in my coffee shop, and I come out just in time to see her walk out without so much as a 'Hi! Hello!' and you sitting here looking desperately in need of scotch at 7 in the morning." The morose glare that he threw across the table at her in response was just about all the answer that she needed, and she reached a soft, plump hand across the table to give him a supportive squeeze on the shoulder. "So she is back in town then?" she asked redundantly. He nodded, still staring at the coffee ring left behind by his mug. "I'm sorry darlin'. Sometimes things… they don't work out like that, you know?" She shook her head and stood, grabbing the mug of cooled chamomile from the tabletop as she made her way back to the counter. "I can't believe that she didn't stop in and at least say 'hi'… I mean, I'm not the most memorable bag of bones out there, but you'd think I'd warrant more than a signed menu, huh?" She clucked her tongue and gazed down at the pink signature. "Guess fame really does change people, right Matt?" The busboy just shrugged his agreement and went back to wiping down the countertop, but something about what Shelby had said niggled at Tyler enough to snap him out of his stupor.

Because sure it had been eight years, and sure her life was eons and light years different that it had been when they were both EMT's and overachievers together. But sitting there, across the table from her, watching her laugh and smile and joke… even watching her run (especially watching her run), he knew that Shelby, for all her intuitiveness, was wrong. Val was Val, even with her new shiny veneer and about 15 pounds underweight, she was still Val. And he knew Val. He knew her well enough to know that this morning she'd reacted exactly the way that Val would have, be it eight years ago or eight minutes ago, not because she'd changed, but because he'd hurt her.

Because he could still hurt her.

Because maybe, maybe he was just lucky enough that she still cared.

That wild hope alone was enough to rouse him from his seat, and propel him out the front door and down the sidewalk in the direction he'd remembered seeing her jog off in. And so it was that eight years, 4 months, 3 days, 13 hours and 10 minutes after she'd first walked away from him, Tyler Connell finally found himself chasing after Val Lanier.

**Take me back into your arms**

**Where I belong**

**There I'm no stranger to you**

* * *

The sound of soft sobbing traveled quickly and directly down the narrow hallways of the hotel. So quickly, in fact, that Val had barely raised her fist to tap on the door of her own suite when the door was flung open by a scowling Royce—holding a live, crackling taser. 

"And into whose orifice do I have to insert this deadly instrument of electrical justice?" he asked, comically, but with an undercurrent of steel in his voice. Val opened her mouth, intending to respond in the negative, but managed nothing but a shuddering hiccup. Remarkably sensitive despite his meathead job description, Royce carefully switched off his taser and enveloped the pathetic blonde in a surprisingly reassuring hug. "Come on now, your run couldn't have been all that bad! What about all those endorphins you got running through the old system?" Her laugh-sob response left him feeling frantic and vengeful. "Come on in here babydoll. Helen isn't up yet, so I ordered you pancakes." Well, that got her attention. Val pulled back cautiously from his muscle-y embrace and raised a hopeful eyebrow.

"With—"

"Karo corn syrup and sweet butter. And not a piece of fruit or whole grain to be found on the whole damn tray." And with that Val allowed herself to be lead down the entrance hall into the suite's living room where, sure enough a fully loaded room service cart was parked right in front of the television.

"You're so getting a raise." She said, sitting down and without any pretense, tucking into the food. Ahhh…. the ickness of the morning slowly began to recede from her mind, replaced by the phenomenon of sweet fried cakey goodness.

"Or fired… if Helen wakes up before they can haul this tray away." He plopped down next to her on the living room floor and grabbed a half bitten cake from the stack, popping it into his mouth before she could snatch it back. "So, care to tell me who I have to kill this fine morning?" A chipmunk cheeked Val sighed into her stack of pancakes.

"Don' wanna talk 'bout it." She muttered, swallowing. They both jumped when the suite's phone rang. Exchanging a weary glance with his charge (because anyone who would really need to contact Val had her or Helen's cell number) Royce stood to answer it.

"Huh? Yeah…I mean, yes it is. And you're sure he asked for Miss Golightly?" He said to the concierge on the other end of the line, careful to only use Val's alias. "Yeah, send him up. I'll deal with it. Yeah, give me ten." He hung up the phone and spun around to glare at the small blonde, who continued to stuff her face full of pancake-y comfort. "You know babe, aliases? They tend to work better when you don't give 'em out." Val blanched an shook her head in denial, mumbling

"I dint do it." Around a mouthful of food.

"Yeah, well, front desk is saying there's a Mr. Connell downstairs in the lobby looking for you… and he knew to ask for 'Miss Golightly.' This wouldn't have anything to do with the tearful hello I got this morning, would it?" At her thunderstruck expression his glare softened, and he threw on his slippers and began plodding towards the door, grabbing his taser off of the runner table on his way out. "Right, well, this is gonna get sorted right the hell now."

* * *

There were many reasons why Tyler would consider luck to be on his side this morning. The first, of course being that he even ran into Val in the first place, the second that there were only two decent sized hotels in Kingsport, and that only one of them was in the direction she'd run off in, and third was that she still seemed to love _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ now as much as she did in high school. All that, in addition to having personally tutored the morning desk clerk in Trig functions, ensured that making it to her hotel room was a snap. 

He knocked softly on the door to the Presidential suite, and immediately heard the snap of the bolt sliding back. And then he was greeted by the scowling ebony face of the bodyguard who'd threatened him last night. "Is Val—"

"You just don't know when to quit, do you Hero?" Royce growled, stepping out past the door to tower over the math teacher in all of his 6'4, 310 lb, African American glory. "Look, I don't know how you found the hotel, or even how in holy hell you got her name, but I assure you, this is as far as you go, right here. Now go on home like a good stalker, and maybe I'll consider letting you out of here without jumpstartin' your heart." He was wearing bunny slippers and clutching an ominously crackling taser in his meaty hand, and Tyler felt himself shrink into the carpeting. Suddenly, though, a flash of blonde ducked under his shoulder, and the bodyguard (Royce, was it? He couldn't remember) instantly faded into the backdrop.

Because she was standing in front of him again, and her eyes, red-rimmed from crying, told him all he'd come there to know.

"What are you doing here Tyler?" She said, voice soft and defeated despite the hard cross of her arms cross her chest.

**The mirror has broken**

**What do you see?**

**A million of you and a million of me **

"I'm sorry. I don't know what—I'm just really sorry."

Val's expression softened only slightly, and she kept herself wrapped tightly in her own arms. "I told you, there's nothing to be sorry about." A strained smile. "It really was nice seeing you again today" Still hovering behind her, listening to their conversation, Royce quirked his eyebrow, having finally pieced the situation together. "But we've got lives to get back to, don't we?" And with that, she spun on her heel and started down the hall into her suite.

* * *

"Please, just let me talk to her. Just for a minute." Pride gone, and head hung low, Tyler begged the bodyguard, who'd remained standing at the door, waiting for him to leave. 

"That little chat took three… and she walked away from you buddy." Royce tried to synthesize his best sympathetic-but-still-threatening facial expression and he went to shut the door.

"Yeah, but the last time I just let her go… I need to—"

"What? Throw yourself at her feet? Beg? Cry? Show her just how wrong she is?" Royce' voice hardened and a dark expression flew across his face. "Just get out of here man."

**The future's unspoken**

**Who do you see?**

**The one on the outside?**

**That's not me**

"No."

**I'm a stranger on the outside**

**When I'm not right next to you**

"Come again?" Royce stepped outside, shutting the door behind him calmly before turning to the obviously suicidal young man.

"I'm not going. I said I need to see her." Tyler wasn't cowering anymore; after all, at this point all he had left to lose was vital organs. Royce cracked his knuckles, an absolutely terrifying move, despite the cliché.

"Look here, sweetheart. This isn't a game, nor is it a Hugh Grant movie. I will quite literally beat the ever-living shit out of you if you don't turn around right now and vacate the premises." He grinned, and it wasn't friendly. Tyler savored the last few minutes that he had with a full set of teeth.

"Well then Royce, I guess you're going to have to beat me, but be sure to beat me unconscious, because that's the only way you're gonna get me the fuck away from this door."

**I'm a lonely man walking**

**Searching for my home**

**Been a thousand years**

**And here I am, I'm all alone**

**And I'm searching for my lovely**

**One to save the day**

**Here I come**

**I'm no stranger today**

* * *

**PS: Leave a review!**


	10. Chapter 8 Ruthless

**A/N: Okay, okay, I've been properly chastened. I'll try not to let so much time go between updates again… I've got no desire to lose my readership, just when I figured out that you guys still existed. Anyway, enjoy this latest installment. Lyrics are bolded and disregard most grammatical conventions. **_Large blocks of Italics_ **once again indicate past time, but in this case, it's in dream form. Complicated system, I know. There are only so many font effects. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Characters are Disney's and the song is "Ruthless" by Something Corporate, an oldie, but the only song relentlessly angsty enough to move this chapter along. Enjoy.**

**Chapter Eight**

_**Ruthless**_

**this is the only lonely picture**

**waiting on my floor**

**littering my shore**

**this is the last true burning letter**

**given to a girl, written by a boy**

It was a one punch K.O.

Taking all the facts into numeric consideration, Tyler should have seen that coming. For the 155 lb math teacher, getting caught in the jaw by the bodyguard's right hook was roughly equivalent to getting kissed by a 16 pound sledgehammer.

He crumpled to the floor, tasting blood and what he imagined was brain matter.

There was just enough time to hear the sound of the door slamming open and Val gasping his name before he blinked out of consciousness.

**living in a world, created to destroy**

"What the hell did you hit him for?!" Val shrieked, swooping down to cradle Tyler's blooded head in her lap. She frowned and ran her fingers along the rapidly darkening skin of his cheek, then glared fiercely back up at Royce, who was calmly examining the reddened skin of his knuckles.

"He said he wouldn't move till I knocked him out. So I knocked him out." He stared incredulously down at the blonde actress, who'd pulled the sketch ball off of the floor and was cradling him in a disturbingly gentle manner. "You did want him gone, right? 'S what that whole, 'Goodbye' rigmarole was about?" She shot him her most dangerous glare in response, leaving the bodyguard feeling suddenly defensive. "Hey, Princess… I was doing MY FUCKING JOB. For all YOU let me know, this fucknut was givin' you trouble this morning, so fuckin' sue me if I misunderstood the situation and tried to get him to clear out. I didn't know that you were trying to play hard-to-fucking-get." On the defensive, the color returned to his normally genteel speech. He also said fuck. A lot. By the end of his tirade, Val's eyes were wide as tea saucers, but she stood her angry ground.

"Help me get him into the room." She hissed, her lower lip trembling only slightly in the face of Royce's righteous fury. "Or we can always wait here and let you get arrested for disturbing the peace." She peered down the hall, as if anticipating the arrival of hotel security. "Whaddya think… one more f-bomb outburst/ public fist fight oughta do it, right?" Royce scowled and stooped down to lift the still-unconscious Tyler and toss him ignominiously over his broad shoulders in a fireman's carry.

"You're such a pain in the ass, you know that Pumpkin?" he growled, nevertheless holding his hand out to tug her to her feet before trudging back into the suite, Tyler in tow. "Ya know… word on the street is Britney's lookin' for a new babysitter. Couple more stellar mornings like this one and you might be watching your own ass." He unceremoniously dropped the limp body down onto the sectional sofa, and plopped down on the floor next to it with a huff.

The teacher moaned, but didn't stir. Val carefully edged in next to him, once again gently resting his head on her lap and running her fingers through his bloodied blonde curls. "You have anger issues!" she fired back primly. Royce threw up his hands in frustration, but nevertheless stomped towards the suite's mini-fridge in search of a cold compress for the unfortunate body on the couch. Val glanced tenderly down at Tyler's black and blue face. "And you, you are too stupid to know when to quit." She whispered.

**but if i built you a city**

**would you let me?**

**would you tear it down?**

"P-points for standing my ground though, right?" Tyler kept his eyes shut despite his return to consciousness. "Your boyfriend is quite the scary, jealous bastard."

"Not my boyfriend. My bodyguard… of course that's much worse 'cause he's getting paid to be a scary, jealous bast-ARGH! Ouch!" A chemical ice pack tossed with sharp shooter accuracy bounced off of her shoulder. "If that bruises, you're totally fired!" she shrieked. Her volume and pitch made Tyler cringe as his already sore head began to throb. Val noticed his discomfort and dropped her voice back to an apologetic whisper as she dabbed the ice pack against his tender temple. "Sorry…so… you about ready to open those eyes then?" Eyes tightly jammed shut, he replied

"Depends… if I do are you gonna kick me out?" She shrugged, a careful lifting of her shoulder blades so as not to jostle him again.

"I'd let you have coffee first."

He responded with a loud, fake snore.

"Maybe you can nap off your concussion too." She conceded. Too woozy to expend the mental energy needed to continue this line of banter, Tyler cautiously opened his eyes. Val was startled by the intensity she saw in his pale grey stare.

"I just came down because I needed to see if—I mean, I wanted to say I'm sorry." Val smiled tightly, her fingers still tracing invisible patterns through his hair.

"I got as much before Royce sent you into Neverland. And like I said before, it's not a big deal."

"No. This is a big deal. With you I'll _always_ assume it's a big deal, because the last time I said something, and then you stormed out of the restaurant and then eight years later your bodyguard knocks me out." Agitated, he pushed himself up off her lap, admiring his strength in not stumbling to his knees immediately afterwards.

Royce tightened his hold on the edge of the countertop, watching but not yet acting, as his charge's personal psycho/savior/boyfriend/whatever began to pace in circles around the small living room.

"_al-Vay e's-hay a-ay utball-nay_" he hissed. Val rolled her eyes but nevertheless began to edge herself towards the end of the couch nearest to the kitchen counter. Tyler, still pacing silently, failed to notice. Both guard and actress jumped when he came to an abrupt stop and then whirled to face her.

"Have dinner with me."

**but there you go for the last time**

**i finally know now what i should have known then**

**and i could still be ruthless if you let me**

Val stared him down, slightly exasperated, slightly terrified. "Tyler, you know that isn't a great idea." He made to take a step closer to her, but stopped when he saw her shrink further back into the couch cushions. She composed herself and went on. "We tried coffee…in the diner? You dared me to throw it on you."

"Words for which I have, rightfully so, come to apologize."

"That's not the point. The point is we made a disaster of coffee. That's just a beverage. You can successfully share beverages with co-workers that you don't really even like. I'm not even gonna risk adding food." Royce snickered at the comment, before remembering that he and Val had shared coffee that very morning. Successfully.

"Well wait just a minute…" he interrupted.

"Royce, _sweetheart_, would you please be so kind as to excuse yourself from this convo? Like, for a second?!" she snapped. Grateful for to break in tension as she was, Val shot him another Glare'o Death until the bodyguard, defeated, slouched out of the room.

"Bitch." He muttered, kicking the door shut behind him. "See if I dive to take the next bullet for you."

"Love you too!" She yelled at the closed bedroom door. Mercifully 310 lb distraction free, she turned her attention back to her restless ex-boyfriend. Who remained pretty singular-minded.

"All I want is dinner." He repeated, then paused to consider a minute. "No. Actually, no. All I want is closure. We sit, we talk, and then we walk away. End it way it was supposed to end, you know?"

An avalanche of eight year old guilt crashed down unto her shoulders. "Well, that was manipulative." She whispered, voice tight. She steeled her jaw, reflexively tightening her muscles so as not to betray any more emotion.

Tyler tore his gaze away from her eyes and down to the carpet, ashamed to be playing what he knew to be a highly effective guilt card. He didn't look great suited in desperation, but at this point, he ignored self image in favor of need.

"At least give me a chance to walk away this time too."

"Really friggin' manipulative." She chuckled, but it came out sounding forced. "I'd have to get Helen to check my schedule, but I think I'm free tonight. For an hour or so, at least." It was a concession. Tyler knew to take whatever he could get. With a minimal amount of wobbling he started to make his way out of the suite.

"I'll leave my number at the front desk then?" Val nodded wordlessly, making no move to get off of the sofa and walk him out the door. "Right. I'll try to get a reservation somewhere before eight. You know that—"

"—Nothing in this zip code serves after nine on a weekday. Yeah. I remember." She stared down at weaving in the slip cover on the couch, in which her manicured fingernails had managed to bore a small hole. "I'll call you this afternoon." She didn't dare look up until the door slammed shut, signaling that he'd already gone.

Royce popped his head out of her bedroom doorway only a second later.

"Well, that went well." He said gruffly. "Had I known that the easiest way to get rid of a psycho-stalker was to agree to date him, well, I'd have encouraged all my clients to do so years ago. Probably would have been awkward for Travolta though…" He stared down at the couch, where he was distressed to find his charge slumped despondently, a small line of tears trailing down her cheeks. "Oh, doll, don't do that. I can't fix things if you cry…" She sniffled, and that was all it took to break the last vestiges of his annoyance. He sat down next to her and pulled her into a large, brotherly hug. "I can have him disappeared if you like, huh? You like that?" Another large sniffle into his t-shirt sleeve as she shook her head no.

"I'm sorry I was so mean." She muttered finally. Royce shrugged, seemingly unconcerned about the mess she was making of his shirt sleeve.

"Well, like I said, it'll make me feel less bad if this wacko kills you and makes a lampshade of your skin." She giggled, and it made him feel less frantic. "He makes you cry again though, well, that's three and then I kill him."

* * *

Royce waited till Val had settled in for a trauma induced nap to call Helen and inform her of the morning's developments. Her reaction was calm, but definite.

"Absolutely not." She said, grimly vetoing her client's dinner plans.

"Yeah, you see, that's what I said. But she's not having it. You can talk to her, but I'm pretty sure she's going no matter what you say." The door to the suite flew open, and Royce, startled, dropped the phone as Helen stormed her way into the room, still lecturing into her cell phone.

"—And WHAT the hell does she think is gonna happen here? Who IS this guy?" She snapped her phone shut and glared her reproach at the bodyguard, and Royce felt all 6 feet and 4 inches of himself shiver. "_Are those pancakes?"_ she hissed dangerously.

* * *

Tyler's cell phone rang ten minutes after he walked through his front door. The caller ID read UNKNOWN and he answered it wearily. "I said no freaking comment, all right you vultures?"

"For all of our sakes, let's hope you stay that discreet." A tired, unfamiliar voice replied.

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"This is Helen Neal, I work for Val Lanier." His grip on the phone tightened, but he kept his voice steady, matching her steel with his own.

"Right, Val said that you'd be—"

"I'll bet she did. Listen here buddy, what the fuck are you aiming at?" Tyler wondered if Val purposely surrounded herself with the most hostile, over-protective people in the world.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. What. The fuck. Do you want." her tone was clipped, and she barreled on without letting him respond. "Is this some publicity stunt? I mean, what, you've got some fan blog or some nonsense that needs a boost? Look, I'm more than aware that my client sells papers, but if you had any human decency left in you, if you _knew_ the hell that she's been through, you'd just drop this right now. Crawl back into whatever hole you crawled out of, and leave my girl alone, all right?"

"_Fan blog? Publicity stunt?!"_ Tyler summoned all of the aggression and frustration that an under-paid, over-worked and disrespected high school teacher could muster, and unleashed it on the unsuspecting manager waiting for a response on the other end of the line. "Listen you, I don't know WHAT kind of people Val surrounds herself with these days, but if you think, for even a freaking second, that I'm enjoying any of this attention, then let me clear something up for you right the hell now. I can't sleep, because my phone has been ringing off the damn hook for 12 hours. I've had to skip work, I'm contemplating changing my phone number, and I'm pretty sure I'm being stalked by a van full of photographers. Now there is only ONE reason why I'd tolerate this rather unprecedented disruption of my day-to-day, and SHE'S IT. You get that? Not because she's a celebrity, not because she sells magazines, but because she's _Val_. Now will you just. Tell me. When and where we're going to dinner. Please. I just need to get back to my life, preferably the happy one I had before she came crashing back into it." He took a deep breath, counted to fifteen and waited for the rude woman to speak.

"So what, dinner, then you're just gonna walk away?" Helen's voice was subdued, she sounded chastened.

"Ideally, yeah. We've got some issues to talk through, cliché as it sounds. After that, she can do whatever the hell she wants." Harsh as that sounded, Tyler knew that he'd said nothing but the truth. The realist in him knew that closure was about all that he could expect from this meeting, and he surprised himself with the realization that closure was all he really wanted. No matter what he saw in her eyes before, the girl he met up in that suite wasn't Val, just as sure as he wasn't Tyler. At least not that Tyler. Not now, not anymore.

The sooner both of them knew that, the faster life could move on.

**but there you go and i'm not done**

**you're waving goodbye**

**well, at least you're having fun**

**the rising tide will not let you forget me**

**forget me**

"I suppose that's what's best for all involved." Helen cleared her throat loudly into the phone speaker. "I made reservations already, Café Gardens on 13th St., 8 PM. They agreed to shut down the dining room for you." Tyler smiled at the choice of restaurant, knowing that the owners, Frances and Nancy, hadn't had such a stroke of good fortune in years. No doubt tonight's dinner would be the centerpiece of their ad campaign for years to come.

"That sounds fine. I'll be there." The clock on his microwave read 12:30, giving him a good seven and a half hours to fill until dinnertime. He decided to kill time and get chatty. "Say, what are you guys in town here for anyway? I mean… Kingsport, Hollywood of the East it's not." There was a sigh on the other end of the line, clearly, the manager intended for this conversation to be over with, _yesterday_.

"Not that you have any real business knowing, but we're filming a couple of episodes of Val's show, you know, the one you don't really care about, at the local high school here. Give the show a little hometown authenticity." Another weighty sigh, then "I'll make sure she's at Café Gardens at 8. Screw any of this up, and I'll personally make sure you disappear quietly, suddenly, and painfully." The line clicked, the conversation clearly over.

Tyler stared at the now silent phone, pondering this latest development. Val and her crew, wandering the halls of Kingsport High.

Clearly, none of this could turn out particularly well.

* * *

At five thirty, Royce pressed his ear against Val's bedroom door, only cracking it open to take a peek when he heard her deep, shuddering gasp.

The actress lay in bed, still sleeping deeply despite the twin tracks of tears pooling around the sharp contours of her face. Her expression was twisted in a tragic mask of pain, the small twitches of her eyes behind their shut lids the only indication that it was just a dream.

**this is your ghost that kneels before me**

**razors on her tongue**

**a body full of oxygen**

_The edges of butcher paper covering the foam padding of the examination table jabbed at her skin every time she restlessly tapped her legs against the side. Upon later examination she knew she'd find a small cut there, at the back of her knee. It had been the only scar left from the events of the day. Well, that anyone could see anyway._

_She liked to think that maybe, if she could stop the restless shaking of her legs at that moment, if she could, maybe, prevent that very first cut it would lead to the derailment of the course of events that would follow. The deeper cuts, the sharper pain. _

_This was a thought she'd had before._

_This was a dream she'd had before._

_Months after the fact, she'd had this dream at least three times a week. Each time she'd wake up in pain, not entirely sure whether it was all purely psychological. The first few weeks the dream would leave her incapacitated for hours, to the point that getting up, going to school, work, even to the bathroom became all but impossible. Now, eight years after the fact, she'd learned to shake off the paralysis, internalizing the familiar sharp stab and carrying it with her through the day. _

_More than once she'd thought of thanking that charity clinic doctor in her award acceptance speeches. Pain made a great actress, if not a healthily functioning human being._

**it won't be the last time she'll ignore me**

**the thinning of my skin**

**without the strength to go**

**the winter's setting in, to cover you in snow**

_Her legs tapped a sharp staccato against the steel drawers of the examination table. The doctor reentered the room, but now, unlike then, Val knew not take hope from his thin, sad smile._

_"That's a tarantella a guy can dance to." He joked lamely, doing a little hop and twisting his hands in the air to bring a smile to the pretty blonde's face. _

_It worked, she giggled. (Again)_

_Suddenly everything was serious again. The whimsy of the old doctor's dance faded from the room as he shuffled over to take her hand in his. "My dear, you knew something was going on, that's why you came to see me today." As she had eight years before, Val stared down at her feet and nodded. _

_"I thought that maybe, it was just nerves, you know, the big move coming up, boyfriend problems…"_

_"I did the blood test to be sure, Miss Valerie. It's undeniable. You're about eight and a half weeks along." He sighed, and Val sat, unshakable on the table. Her legs slowed in their rhythmic swing. "This boyfriend of yours, he's the father?" Another nod, she remembered how dry her mouth had gotten at that point, how impossible it had become to swallow, much less answer. The gentle squeeze of the doctor's hand gave little comfort. "I'm sorry to complicate an already tumultuous situation, but have you thought about what you were going to do?" _

_In the dream, as it was then, there was no hesitation. She lifted her head to reveal eyes too dry to shed a tear. "I can't. I mean, I'm only eighteen." Her chest heaved, but she still didn't cry. "I can't have this baby."_

**but if i built you a city**

**would you let me?**

**would you tear it down? **

_The doctor nodded, his gaze far away, at the time she'd thought that she could feel the weight of his judgment in the absence of his answer. "Of course, young girl like you, who needs such problems? You've got so much more to do yet, you don't need a baby." He was doing something in his head, calculations, scheduling… his taxes for all she knew. "You don't live near here, do you?" She shook her head no, and he tapped the side of his nose knowingly. "Thought so. I've worked at this clinic for 15 years, in this town for 30. I know everyone there is to know here. And I don't know you, Miss Valerie." He paused, thoughtfully. "I want to help you out, young lady, I really do. You seem like a smart girl, got all your ducks in a row-- except for this small hiccup here." The doctor began nodding again, agreeing with whatever thought had popped into his head. "I'm going to check with my nurse, see if we can do something to help you out today." Val barely had time to whisper a thank you before the doctor shuffled out the door, and he paused at the doorway to shoot her a warm, sympathetic smile._

_That genuine, undeserved sympathy would ever after color her memory of the experience. Every time she dared sum it up, every time she dreamed, the doctor's sympathetic voice washed over her spine, bringing with it fresh, familiar pain. _

"_Don't worry, Miss Valerie. A couple of days, a couple of weeks? All this will be gone, nothing more than a bad dream."_

It was at this point that she always woke up, face wet from crying and chest aching with sobs that she could never let go of.

**but there you go for the last time**

**i finally know now what i should have known then**

**and i could still be ruthless if you let me**

**but there you go and i'm not done**

**you're waving goodbye**

**well, at least you're having fun**

**the rising tide will not let you forget me**

**Forget me**

**Forget me**

**PS: Thank you for all the positive reviews. You guys are pretty awesome to keep following this. We've got a ways to go, and a whole empty summer to do it in. Stick with me, yeah?**


	11. Chapter 9 It's Complicated

**A/N: It is rather distressing to find that I've taken so long to update that the site has actually changed its format **_**again**_** in the time it took me to finish this chapter. Inexcusable. Anyway... Lyrics are bolded and disregard most grammatical conventions. **_Large blocks of Italics_ **once again indicate past time. Complicated system, I know. There are only so many font effects.**

**Disclaimer: Characters belong to Disney, and the song is "Breathing" by Lifehouse. If I've taken liberty with the lyrics, it's only to better suit the mood of the chapter. Plot and witty banter are my own intellectual property, though I'm no sure that there's anything worth stealing there anyway.**

**Chapter Nine**

_**It's… Well, It's Complicated**_

**I'm finding my way back to sanity, again**

**Though I don't really know what I'm gonna do when I get there**

_Her hands shook as she composed the letter; you could read it in the wobbly tail of her "a" and the hurried slash of the "t." Blots and starts that she was sure he would catch, tell tale marks of her dishonesty. She read through it once more, gripping the flowery pink stationary tight enough to leave a crease._

"Dear Tyler…" _she began shakily, exhaling to still the hand rattling the sloppily written Dear John. _"Dear Tyler, if you're reading this letter right now, it means that I've already gone..."

_Around her feet lay crumpled wads of stationary, pages and pages filled with her attempts to tell the truth. _"Dear Tyler," _those began _"Dear Tyler, last week I had to make the hardest decision of my life…"

"Dear Tyler, I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't hate me, please, I love you."

_In the end, it was easier to lie. She creased the letter down the center, shoved it into an envelope and called her sister into the room in one swift motion, perhaps afraid that a millisecond's hesitation would be all the difference needed to change her mind. Brooke stormed into the room, followed closely by Val's best friend Caitie, whose somber clothing, for once, seemed occasion-appropriate. _

_"How's it hanging Supergirl?" the purple-haired goth asked softly. Val shrugged and gestured towards her half-empty suitcases. _

"_Finishing up here, I guess."_

_Brooke, agitated, skipped the formalities. "This is wrong Val. You know this is wrong."_

"_You don't understand Brooke, I can't face him right now. It's…well it's—"_

"_Say 'complicated' and I puke." Her little sister snatched the letter from her hand and read it through once, her frown growing deeper with each line. "All that's missing here is 'I hope that we can be friends one day.' Insult, meet injury." Scowling, she handed Caitie the letter. "I just don't get it. I mean, being angry, that I get, he was a bonehead. But to just disappear on someone you love? To just leave?" _

_Nothing about this situation was making any rational sense, and it was driving Brooke, a great supporter of reason, bananas. "I mean, even as his friend, not even his girlfriend, saying goodbye is just human decency. This right here? This is shady." She didn't even need to mention the fact that her sister's need for secrecy necessitated not telling any of other friends or acquaintances that she was going. That she was, effectively, disappearing off the Kingsport radar without a trace. Brooke shook her head in consternation. Shady business indeed._

_Val looked to her best friend for support, aware that Caitie, who'd driven her two towns down the interstate to make the appointment at the clinic, was the only other person that knew the situation in its entirety. Caitie surprised her by siding with her sister. "She's right Val, I mean, I'm not an inordinate fan of your boytoy or anything, but even the lowest dog of a boyfriend deserves a better than this." Her eyes stayed sympathetic, but her tone was stern as she continued "He needs to know. You need to be the one to tell him." There was no way of knowing if Val had caught the double meaning in her friend's statement; reacting as if she hadn't heard, she continued methodically packing her clothes away. _

"_Or, you know, you can ignore us and continue on with your morally bankrupt decision making." Brooke snapped, angry at her sister's stubborn detachment. "I've gotta go drop these evaluation papers off at the EMS station before Alex goes home for the afternoon. Caitie, call me if you manage to extract my sister's head from her ass." With that the 14 year old flounced out of the room, leaving the wry goth to tend to the visibly distraught Val. _

"_She's just upset… you know, with you moving across the country and all… And I'm pretty sure Tyler bought her friendship with Bubble Yum and Cheetos early on in your relationship." When her dry attempt at humor failed to raise a smile, Caitie sat down cautiously in the space next to her best friend on the bed. _

"_She doesn't know, so she can't understand." Val said shakily. "She just sees me as this evil, dishonest..." she shook her head, emptying it of the thought. "Everyone does. And those who don't now, well, they will by tomorrow. God, when Tyler reads that letter…"_

"_Well, you can't begrudge the guy for hating your guts. I mean, far as he knows, you booked town without so much as a 'Hey, I'll call.' Also, as far as he knows, for no good reason. For no real reason at all, actually." _

_For a best friend and confidant, Caitie was surprisingly bad at being comforting._

"_I don't know what else I can tell you, except that I can't stay here. I can't. Being here, being in this town, having to hide and lie just in case he stops by--" Caitie's expression softened, and she rested a comforting hand on Val's shoulder._

"_Hey, I know, alright? What you went through… God, I've been sick about it all week and all I did was hold your hand. I know how incredibly hard it must be to keep all of this inside of you; I know how all this must be killing you. I know you have to go. I just don't understand why it has to be like this." She peered searchingly into her best friend's face, saw, for the first time, how large the shadows under eyes had grown, how lack of sleep had made her gaunt and pale. It had been days since she left the room the two sisters shared; Caitie had driven her home from the doctor's office and tucked her into her bed, weak as a kitten, herself. From what Brooke had told her, Val had barely left it since. She'd assumed her naturally hyperactive friend had spent all that time sleeping. By the looks of her, she was wrong. "Did your Dad pick up that Ambien that Dr. Soto prescribed you?" she asked, concerned. Val nodded wearily._

"_Yeah, I figure I'll wait to take it till I arrive in San Francisco. I don't want to try it for the first time on a transcontinental flight; I might pass out and end up stranded in Ohio or something." She looked around her room, at all the she would be leaving behind. Nothing beyond the clothes that she'd stuffed into her three suitcases would be going with her to California. New life, new start._

_Well, almost. She surreptitiously tucked a small memory card into her digital camera case, and packed it away in her carryon. On it were the photos taken during her and Tyler's Key West vacation earlier on in the summer. A graduation gift from their parents, it was the first trip they'd been allowed to take together as a couple. Wrapped up in the fun and romance of it all, they'd agreed to go to the same college come fall, fantasizing that Key West was only the first of many trips they'd someday take together. Falling asleep in one another's arms each night, they'd dreamed of days that existed years in the future, of white weddings and picket fences._

_They were happy. They hadn't known any better not to be. _

"_You'll make sure Brooke gives Tyler the letter?" She said. Her voice was steady, she felt too defeated to cry. Caitie, sensing the melancholy shift in her best friend's attitude and not wanting to sour their last few hours together, nodded tightly. _

"_First thing tomorrow morning."_

***

* * *

**Take a breath, and hold on tight**

When Tyler arrived at the restaurant, he was escorted to table bearing an empty champagne flute and the carefully hand-shredded contents of the bread basket. His dinner companion nowhere to be found, he quirked his eyebrow at the disaster left of the table setting and asked "Am I late?" Nancy, who co-owned the establishment with her sister, gestured grandly at the grandfather clock in the corner, which at 7:58 was gearing up to strike the hour. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I think she's in the restroom sir." Tyler smothered a smile at her formality.

"Nancy, your kids pelt me with small pieces of paper five times a week. There's no need to pretend I'm anyone special." With a roguish wink he plopped down in the chair she'd pulled out for him, tilting back before she could push it back in. "Now, how about a Newcastle and some more bread?" Rolling her eyes and giving him a quick swat on the back of the head with her order pad, she caught sight of Val emerging from the restroom and lowered her voice.

"You think you can get her to sign something for Jen, my oldest? I mean, shutting down the restaurant for you two and all, that's a pretty big favor—" His surreptitious thumbs up in the face of Val's imminent arrival sent her scurrying away from the table to retrieve the drink orders.

"I didn't really mean to keep you waiting." He said as she silently slipped back into her seat. "Your manager did say 8 right?" Val offered him a small, nervous smile.

"Yeah—I mean, yes she did. But I was hustled in through the kitchen entrance at 7:30 because Helen's always little neurotic about beating the press to any event." The champagne had done nothing to loosen the knot of nerves in her stomach, and she was dismayed to find herself stumbling over words. "But that in itself is way more neurotic than she normally is, cause, first off, what press? And secondly, this isn't even an event, it's just dinner… I mean, not _just_ dinner, I mean, obviously, this is important—" she took a deep breath, told herself to shut up "--the point is, I _was_ waiting, but it wasn't your fault, cause I'm usually early everywhere I go…And anyway, it's me that should be really sorry, because I ripped all bread." She concluded, immediately cross with herself for her babbling. Tyler, for his part, found comfort in the familiarity of her awkwardness.

"This I can see. You obviously have a very strange relationship with complex carbs." The joke earned him a broad grin, though he noted with consternation that even her smile looked tired. "How'd your afternoon go?" He asked, gently enough to warrant an intimate lean forward. Shrinking into her seat the moment that he asked the question, she looked so worn and wire-strung that he almost risked taking her hand. Almost. He tilted back in his chair again, retreating from the instinct that called for him to pull her closer.

"It was okay. It went fine." Her response came a moment too quick to be taken as genuine. She tried to save it, quickly adding "I'm really glad you stopped by so that we could do this."

They both recognized the lie as soon as she said it, and the conversation died again. In the mounting tension, Tyler desperately scanned the dining room in search of a waitress bearing alcohol, and Val began to fidget with her table settings. She balanced the butter knife on its tip; let it pirouette on the axis till it slipped between her fingers and fell to the floor with a clatter that startled them both.

**Spin around one more time**

The tiny jump that she felt was enough to kick start her higher cognitive processes. Wasn't she the one who'd sat through a $1000 per session media training course for the past 3 years? Who'd given out hundreds, if not thousands, of careless answers during complicated interviews conducted by bloodthirsty celeb. journalists? She'd gone head to head with Joan Rivers and emerged poised and victorious; had even coyly batted her eyelashes and charmed Larry King.

So what in the hell was she doing crouched under the dinner table, purposefully

prolonging her search for her errant silverware?

_Get it together Val._

She was a professional. Turn off the nerves, and smile for the camera, if nothing else, she could do that till the day she died.

_Lights… Camera… _

**And gracefully fall back to the arms of grace**

_Cue the talent._

***

* * *

'**Cause I am hanging**

**On every word you say**

**And even if you don't wanna speak tonight**

**That's alright**

**Alright with me**

Tyler knew that he needed to contribute a bit more to make this an actual conversation. Val's hands fluttered in a way that wasn't unlovely as she narrated her latest paparazzi mishap for his amusement (a trick, he realized, she'd probably learned to do in acting school, to make her monologues more compelling) her voice dipped and changed as she spoke for each person involved, using her gifts of inflection, making the dullest story sparkle and come to life. And for his part, he was the audience, though the front he presented as she told her story made him a poor one.

**Cause I want nothing more**

**Than to sit outside heaven's door**

**And listen to you breathing**

She was like a prism dancing on the end of a string. Every so often there would be a shift in the wind, and then he'd be rewarded with a familiar laugh, a phrase, a smile… Small glimpses of the girl he used to love in the glittery, brittle figure seated across from him.

She broke character only a few times, just enough, he realized, for him to figure out that this was indeed a character that she was playing, a one-woman play put on for his benefit. _Val goes to Hollywood. _Just a few moments, very few moments indeed when her guard would drop and she'd nervously reach up and stroke the small wooden pendant hanging from the trendy necklace fastened around her throat. He supposed it was because it wasn't talking all that much, content as he was to sit back and wait to be rewarded with traces of his ex.

_What happened to you?_

He knew that she sensed when it happened too. For every familiar joke, every time he caught her eye _like that_ he felt the corresponding tense of her shoulders across the table. Then that laugh--false, bright, icy—and then again she was gone.

_Where do you go?_

At these moments all he wanted to do is grab her by the shoulders and demand to know.

_Where did you go?_

The problem was that he wasn't a stupid man. No, not nearly stupid enough. So instead he sipped his beer, washing these moments down as he struggled to return his focus to the woman that she was now.

**This is where I want to be**

***

* * *

**I'm looking past the shadows in my mind**

**Into the truth**

**And I'm trying to identify the voices in my head**

**God, which one's you?**

He was being quite the creepy asshole, in Val's opinion. She set down her now empty third glass of champagne (compulsively guzzled, nerves, naturally) and emboldened by bubbles peered searchingly into his eyes.

"You don't care a lick about the Jessica Alba lipgloss incident." She declared finally, slumping backing her chair with a little hrrrumph. She pouted and considered her (untouched) main course—salmon salad, no dressing—and hand signaled the waitress for a refill instead.

Propelled forward by her pout, Tyler hurried to redeem himself. "No! I was listening…lipgloss…colorclash…made her teeth look yellow at the Golden Globes. I got that. Totally. Catastrophe." He nodded earnestly, then grinned to show off his own pair of perfect whites. "That makeup artist should just be excommunicated."

Val leaned forward, brought herself back to rest elbows on the table, but her pout remained resolute, if not ever so slightly up turned at the corners. "You're not listening to my stories because I tell stupid ones." She sighed. "I know, I wish I did something more important too. I'm not vapid. I mean. Not that vapid. I just—it's all I'm good at." Tyler took hold of her small hand from where it rested on the dinner table, held it loosely, but then a little more firm when she didn't snatch it away.

"It's not useless to have talent. You're here because people recognized how absolutely amazing you are." Emboldened by her small smile, he took her other hand, and staring at the delicate fingers as they interlaced with his and added "I know I always did."

**Let me feel one more time**

**What it feels like to feel**

The familiar warmth of his hands of over hers felt good, she realized. Really good. His touch communicated comfort, security…electricity. When they touched there was no denying that she felt the familiar prick of the current that ran between them. More than a little drunk, she allowed it to pick her up and drag her closer. "I never thought I'd find you back here." She murmured softly. She felt him stiffen, and release her hands, and she used the opportunity to reach up and run her fingers down the plane of his cheek, tracing the familiar contours as she ruminated, for the most part, to herself. "I thought about it sometimes, coming back here, seeing all of our old places. But without you here there just never…seemed to be a point."

"I'm not sure what you mean…" he began cautiously. They locked eyes as she cupped his cheek, and Val smiled a little too sadly back up at her dinner companion.

"It never got any easier, missing you."

**Break these calluses off of me**

**One more time**

The sincerity in that small statement caught Tyler's breath, and his response came quickly, defiantly, without thought.

"Well, you never really had to. Neither of us did." If the statement stung, it didn't show. Her sad, pretty face made him want to go further, to be reckless. "You never had to go. I would have—I would have done anything." Jaw hardening, he pressed forward. "I would have done everything. If you just told me. If you just said—" Something in his throat tightened ominously, and he quickly swallowed and said again "You didn't have to go."

**Well I don't want a thing from you**

**I bet you're tired of me waiting**

Val knew that the fate of the evening hung on whatever she chose to say next.

Across the table, Tyler waited, body tensed for a blow, eyes pleading. He wanted the reason why she left. He wanted the truth.

There was no way that she could break him like that. In the end, she had no choice but to lie.

**For the scraps to fall off your table**

**To the ground**

'**Cause I just want to be here now**

"Everything was just so…confused back then. I just thought, maybe, I could find a way to make everything easier. I thought—I thought that maybe if I left, that if I hurt you, that if you just hated me—I thought maybe that would make everything easier.

I just wanted to find a way for both of us to be happy. Because we couldn't be together…it would just hurt so much more if we still wanted to be together."

At times like this, eye contact remained essential. Staring at your hands was a sure-fire sign of dishonestly, so was fidgeting. It was a popular misconception that you looked more sincere with your head hung low and your hands twisted together.

"I was rash…I was eighteen, and just so stupid. And once I got over there, I knew that I was so wrong about everything. But it wasn't like I could fix it. It's not like I could go back and say sorry. And I know that me being here can't fix anything that I did in the past. I'm not here because I couldn't be eight years ago."

Val stared him straight in the eye, her voice stayed soft, tempo even.

"I'm here because I want to be here now."

Perfect delivery.

'**Cause I am hanging on every word you say**

**And even if you don't wanna speak tonight**

**That's alright**

**Alright with me**

His eyes softened, and the tension melted away from his shoulders as a smile, his first genuine one of the evening, radiated from his mouth to the corners of his eyes. Val released the breath that she hadn't realized that she'd been holding. He looked happy. Genuinely happy.

"This doesn't seem like closure." He said finally. "This conversation is—well I don't know what precisely…What are you saying?" Taken aback by the confrontation, she stuttered

"I—I know you said you wanted to walk—"

"Never mind what I said. I'm an idiot. I'd just been punched in the face—" he indicated at the still swollen area surrounding his cheekbone. "I may have been concussed, and was at any rate clearly not making wise decisions this morning anyway."

"I mean if you don't want to—"

"Don't want to what?!" he interrupted, growing just the tiniest bit impatient. She grinned at his enduring awkwardness, and as he glanced up at her, nervous and uncertain, Val felt something raw and feminine surge through her blood. She took up his hand again, felt the undeniable current that ran between their interlaced fingers.

And finally, _finally,_ leaned across that immeasurable space of time, of distance, of circumstance that lay between them to softly plant a kiss on his lips.

**Cause I want nothing more**

**Than to sit outside heaven's door**

**And listen to you breathing.**

**It's where I want to be.**

**This is where I wanna be. **

**

* * *

  
**

_**P.S.: No promises. I know better now.**_

_**--M**_


	12. Chapter 10 Be You Again

**AN: All right, so here's the deal. Remember how I said that the ratings might change later on? Well, here it is. In Chapter 10 we get dangerously close to adult only territory. Nothing too graphic, I'm just saying…Val and Tyler are two mature, very good looking adults. It happens. Strong PG-15. Eh. Y'all can handle it. Also…no song in this one. So, to sum up--short, hot, sweet, all with a new format. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimers: Disney owns Tyler and Val…and, if I'm not mistaken, the town of Kingsport. Plot and witty banter…mine. As is Tyler's couch. Deal.**

**Chapter Ten**

_**Be You Again**_

_**Previously: **__"Don't want to what?!" he interrupted, growing just the tiniest bit impatient. She grinned at his enduring awkwardness, and as he glanced up at her, nervous and uncertain, Val felt something raw and feminine surge through her blood. She took up his hand again, felt the undeniable current that ran between their interlaced fingers._

_And finally, __finally,__ leaned across that immeasurable space of time, of distance, of circumstance that lay between them to softly plant a kiss on his lips._

_

* * *

  
_

It was never meant to be anything more than a little kiss—an impulse, really—spurred on by nothing more real than recognition.

A moment's worth of hesitation, on his part, made it otherwise. Feeling the tightness of his lips against hers, the seconds without response, the lockout—it made her crazy and sad and stupid. For those few seconds life became meaningless unless she managed to make him kiss her back.

"Forgive me..." she murmured hotly against his lips. "Please, please…"

_Be you again._

It was a thought she'd hoped had remained unspoken, but his reaction, instantaneous as it was, left little doubt that he was aware of what she needed. His jaw unclenched under her cautious caresses, and his fingers, unbidden, tangled in her blonde waves.

Tyler pressed forward. Val demurely pulled back. His tongue ghosted over the fullness of her bottom lip as her eyes fluttered shut. She moaned, a heady little sound that propelled him across the table, his hands, searching, cupped her shoulders to roughly pull her closer. "Val…" he breathed. She bit at his lower lip in response. Hard.

His eyes flew open, as a pleasant shock curled in the pit of his stomach. He took a moment, and pulled back to study her: lips swollen from his attentions, her breath sweet and ragged—she stole his breath away. "Do you, maybe, want to get some dessert? Or some air?" he ventured.

From the back pocket of her jeans, her phone chirped conspicuously—9:30 sharp—Helen.

Val looked at the scattered crumbs left on the table, the tipped champagne flute, his hands resting over hers. In one decisive move the phone was silenced. Then she was standing from the table, pulling him up alongside her.

"Let's take a walk."

******

She was giggling, skipping in front of him as they strolled past the shuttered shop fronts towards her hotel on Main, offering him licks off her sprinkle covered ice cream cone, and driving him crazy when she sucked the sticky syrup off of the ends of her fingertips before grabbing his hand. "I don't even remember the last time I had just plain ol' ice cream. Everywhere in L.A. it's all passion fruit acai berry yogurt or sea salt caramel truffle swirl…" she sighed, licking at the rainbow sprinkle trail that had made its way down her wrist. Tyler watched the path of her tongue, his throat tightening uncomfortably.

"So," he coughed, hiding his discomfort "I hear you're doing a bit of filming at the high school..." She shrugged by way of response, suddenly fixated on the melting cone. He pressed on. "I mean…I work there… I didn't know if I told you that. Started teaching there about two years or so ago…" she whirled around and studied his face.

"A teacher? You teach teenagers?" He grinned, unbothered by her surprise—eight years ago he wouldn't have believed it either.

"Yup. Khaki slacks, short sleeve button downs, the lingering scent of coffee and disappointment—that's me. Pre-cal, Algebra…even Calc, for those I find worthy."

"In a weird way it makes sense. I mean, I always found our AP Calculus study sessions _enlightening_._"_ The memory of those late nights sent a quick, hot shudder down his spine. Enjoying the particular effect that she was having on him,she leaned close to whisper in his ear. "Now…do they call you _Mister Connell?_" she teased. She move as if she was going to keep skipping forward, thoroughly enjoying her game, but Tyler stopped short, and she stumbled backwards because in her distraction she'd failed to notice. Her ice cream fell to the ground, but he caught her before she did the same.

"Well…lookie what I caught." He murmured, inhaling the soft vanilla scent of her hair, the strawberry on her lips.

"You made me drop my ice cream." She whined, turning to wind her arms around his neck.

"I don't rightly see how this can be my fault...what with you looking gorgeous as—" on tiptoes, she stopped the thought with a kiss.

***FLASH* **

"Is that…Val! Val Lanier!" They'd rounded the corner towards the glass entranceway of the hotel, and had lingered, unknowingly , in full view of the crowd of paparazzi camped out inside the lobby.

"Shit!" she cried, stumbling away from him, as they both blocked their eyes from the glare. "What do we do? Where—"

"You have a plan?" he muttered, grabbing her hand and pulling her behind him protectively. "Do we run the gauntlet through the lobby or…?" The camera flashes blinded him as they edged backwards, hand in hand, from the cameramen bottlenecked at the revolving door.

"Do you live near here?" she hissed back. She'd bent down and was slowly unbuckling the straps of her stilettos.

"Wha—What are you doing?"

"We're running." She replied, a steely challenge in her stare. The first of the camera men had made it through the door and was madly clicking away in their direction. "Your place. Keep up." And then, with no further explanation, she took off, barefoot, down the street.

She had no idea where his apartment was located. Tyler had no choice but to follow.

******

"In what way—" he gasped, collapsing against the frame of his front door "—In what way was this the most practical and easiest solution to the problem?" Val, to whom the question was obviously addressed, limped up the small staircase behind him.

"It seemed like our only option." She replied, barely winded. She plopped down on the floor next to him, examining her battered feet. "Owwie." The small, bloody scrapes on her soles took his attention away from his screaming calves, and he lifted her onto his lap and began gently brushing the embedded bits of grit and gravel from the balls of her feet.

"I should probably get you washed up inside—'

"Can we do this in the house—" they began simultaneously, and then stopped, amused. Tyler scrambled to his feet and fished his keys out of the back pocket of his jeans, while Val stooped to reapply her shoes.

"Leave those." He scolded roughly, grabbing her up in his arms to carry her over the threshold.

"I can walk…I'm not an invalid!" she protested, while conversely resting her head against his damp sweater. She inhaled, smiled when she detected a hint of cologne under the heavy scent of his perspiration.

"You'll bleed all over the carpet, and I'll lose my security deposit." He snarked back, conversely enjoying the feel of her head on his shoulder. He settled down, Val still held fast in his arms, on the worn corduroy couch. "That was some piss poor critical thinking." He said finally. Val shot him a hard glare.

'"They'd blocked up the revolving doors."

"You couldn't have smiled a little?" Her shoulders tensed, and she pushed up and away from him.

"That? Is my life." She snapped, scooting to the far end of the couch. "I live with that. That follows me home." She scowled and curled her arms around herself protectively. "If you think for even one second that I would—What are you doing? Stop that!" Tyler had grabbed her legs and stretched them over his lap, so that he could examine the damage done to her feet. Now he slowly ran his hands under the torn hem of her jeans, so that he could massage small circles around her ankles.

"You're here." Tyler's voice stayed even, and when his eyes finally met hers, there was something, almost shy, in them. Val felt herself relax a little, in no small part due to the gentle ministrations of his hands on her legs. She sat up and crawled over to sit next to him on the couch.

"I'm here." She replied, resting her head on his shoulder. They sat in silence for a moment; her fingers began to trace small indistinct patterns along his forearm. The feel of her hands gliding along his skin made him tense and nervous.

"What—I mean…why? Why are you—"her feather light touches slowed, she stared at him apprehensively. Tyler exhaled slowly, got a hold of himself. "I don't know why. I don't care. I don't." He paused, gaze locked on his shoes. "But if you leave again…I can't do this if you're gonna leave again. I can't—tell me now what you want because if we start…" Val braved an interruption.

"Tyler I—"

"Wait. Just wait." Another slow, steadying exhale. "I don't love you Val." His simple statement wasn't meant to be heartbreaking. It was truth. It was time. Val's head stayed on his shoulder, but her hands now clutched at his. She was shaking. "I hadn't even thought of you. For eight years I never thought of you." He pulled her onto his lap, enjoyed the small, perfect weight of her resting against his chest. Serious grey eyes met watery crystal blue and she tensed, waiting for—deserving really—whatever hurtful thing he had to say next.

"But Val, I don't have it in me to make myself not love you again."

And then his lips crashed down onto hers, and, nearly crying out in relief, she threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back. Gone were the coy teases and the tentative touches. A dry desperation fueled every touch, every kiss. His hands raced up and down her body. He touched her, memorizing every curve and hollow—fervently—only the way a man who knew loss could.

Her hands travelled under his sweater, leaving light scratches on the skin of his stomach and on his back. He moaned appreciatively. So she went a step further, straddling his waist to pull the obstructing garments up and over his head. She peppered his chest with kisses, and Tyler bit his lip to hold in what would have been an unmanly whimper.

"Won't leave you baby. I'm here." She whispered raggedly, running kisses across his shoulders. "I'm not leaving." She said again, letting her lips linger at the pulse point on his neck. Growling, he flipped both of them over, propping his weight on his arms he gazed down at her, grey eyes smoldering. Her hair was a wild tangled mess, blonde curls covering his hands and spilling down the side of the couch. Blue eyes, unfocused, confused, stared back at him. "Tyler? Is something wrong?" she nibbled at her lower lip. This sight of it had him fixated.

"That…looks like my job." he said hoarsely, dipping down to capture said lips in a rough kiss. "You're so beautiful." He whispered against her mouth. His hands gently wrapped themselves in the silk of her hair, as his lips dragged across the sharp line of her chin. "My beautiful. Golden. Girl." He murmured, punctuating each word with a soft kiss on her jawline before biting down softly on her earlobe. Val moaned and arched under him. He pulled back and kissed the soft flesh under her collar bone. "Tell me to stop." He whispered urgently against her neck. "Tell me to stop right now, because otherwise—"Val felt the implications of "otherwise" as he pressed himself against her leg. She said nothing. Meeting the intensity of his gaze, she wiggled out slightly from under him, and lifted her shirt up above her head. Groaning, he lavished the now exposed skin with the attentions of his lips. He kissed around her belly button, up the soft line of her torso. He kissed the tops of her breasts over her bra. "I want you." He prayed into her skin. "I missed you."

And then they were suddenly standing. Val wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing herself against him as he navigated them clumsily towards his bedroom.

******

"So let me get this straight. They paid the bill…and left? Together?" Helen patiently asked the voice on the other end of the phoneline…The voice that was, incidentally, supposed to be Val, being as she had been calling Val's cell. Nancy, proprietress of the restaurant answered.

"Er…yes. She left her cell phone here though…so you know…you can still come pick that up." Helen gritted her teeth, counted to ten.

"And where, precisely did she say she was going?" _Cloudless sky over calm ocean_…

"Well, that didn't seem to be much of my business… but I would assume back to wherever it is that y'all are staying—"

"The Drake, we're here at the Drake." The manager interrupted tersely.

"Well, is that where you want me to send this phone?"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE BLOODY PHONE! I CARE ABOUT THE MULTI. MILLION. DOLLAR. CELEBRITY. THAT IS MISSING FROM YOUR RESTAURANT!" Helen had clearly lost it. She slammed the plastic receiver of the suite's phone against the nightstand until it cracked, and then proceeded to toss the unit against the opposite wall of the bedroom, barely missing Royce's head as he paced by.

"Well…that was scary." The bodyguard said, and then, added cautiously, "Do you want me to go get that phone?" Helen glared back up at him with teary, blood shot eyes.

"If don't get fired for this one, I quit. You hear me? I fucking quit. I've had enough of the flighty, spastic shit that she's been pulling. She wants to run off in the night without telling anyone where she's going? FINE! She'll wind up dead in a gutter. I swear to fucking God. Dead. In a gutter." Royce quit his frantic pacing and settled down on the bed next to the wire strung manager. When it became clear that her rant had expended the last of her anger, he cautiously draped his arm over her hunched shoulders in an awkward one armed hug.

"Naw, darlin'. Now you don't mean that." Helen threw up her hands panicking anew.

"It doesn't matter what I mean, or what I say, or if I mean it when I say it! What matters is that she could be in trouble, or stranded, or kidnapped by inbred Appalachian drug dealers, or just fine having an after dinner cup of coffee at a diner somewhere—either way we have no way of knowing because the dumb bitch LEFT HER CELLPHONE!" At that the black man chuckled, imagining, no doubt, all of his little blonde client's past hijinks.

"She'll find no more trouble here than she has in L.A. Less, probably, seeing as we're here in her hometown in the middle of Virginia. There's not a place open past 8:30. Worst she could do here is get drunk under the high school bleachers like a sneaky eighteen year old."Helen harrumphed in response, but Royce just pulled her closer and continued, "Look. There's any number of reasons why she did what she did. And we'll both probably want to strangle her for any one of 'em she offers, but trust me, she'll be back to offer them herself soon enough."

Helen's phone twittered in the living room, indicating she'd received a text message, and she gratefully stood from the bed to retrieve it. "That's probably her now." Royce called cheerfully from the bedroom. Helen didn't respond. Royce puzzled…she'd woulda checked the message by now. He tried again. "Helen? Uh…Miss Neal?"

Silence.

Sighing, he lifted his bulky frame from Val's bed and padded into the living room, only to find Helen standing there, ashen faced, gripping her cell phone. He sprang into action snatching from her hand—"Wassa matter? Is it Val, is she in some sort of—" he glanced down at the cell phone screen and the sentence died in his throat. There, taken from an angle so close as to be unmistakable, was a photo of an oblivious Val blissfully locked in the arms of the nutball from that morning. Timestamped not 30 minutes ago. "Shit, babe, now why'd you have to go and do that…" he muttered, feeling an uncomfortable mix of rage and worry in the pit of his stomach. Helen stared up at him dolefully.

"I would have preferred drunk under the bleachers."

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**AN: Leave chastising reviews. --M**


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